


The Half of It

by The_Ravenclaw_Pirate



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inspired by The Half of It (2020), M/M, POV First Person, i hope this goes well lol, it's set in england mates, since i don't get the american school system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 32,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24547636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Ravenclaw_Pirate/pseuds/The_Ravenclaw_Pirate
Summary: The ancient Greeks believe humans once had four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces. Pretty weird, if you ask me, but we were happy. Complete, if you will. So complete that the Gods, fearing our wholeness would thwart our need for worship, split us in two. Leaving our split selves to wander the Earth in misery.Forever. Longing.Longing.Longing, for the other half of our soul.It is said that when one half finds its other, there is a sort of unspoken understanding. A unity. And each would know no greater joy.Of course, the ancient Greeks never went to secondary school.orthe half of it au with melchritz because i saw the movie and couldn't think of anything else.
Relationships: Anna/Martha Bessell, Bobby Maler/Marianna Wheelan, Hanschen Rilow/Ernst Robel, Melchior Gabor/Moritz Stiefel, Otto Lammermeier/Georg Zirschnitz, Wendla Bergmann & Moritz Stiefel, Wendla Bergmann/Ilse Neumann, Wendla Bergmann/Melchior Gabor
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	1. Love is Simply the Name for the Desire and Pursuit of the Whole

**Author's Note:**

> heya. first time writing for this fandom, hope i get it right.

_The ancient Greeks believe humans once had four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces. Pretty weird, if you ask me, but we were happy. Complete, if you will. So complete that the Gods, fearing our wholeness would thwart our need for worship, split us in two. Leaving our split selves to wander the Earth in misery._

_Forever. Longing._

_Longing._

_Longing, for the other half of our soul._

_It is said that when one half finds its other, there is a sort of unspoken understanding. A unity. And each would know no greater joy._

_Of course, the ancient Greeks never went to secondary school. Seems to me that if they did they’d realise we don’t need them to mess things up for us._

Just an excerpt from the paper on love philosophy I worked tirelessly over, into the dead of night. I fell asleep a couple of times, but it should be worth a good grade, might even bring my average up so I actually get a passing grade on my report. I’d be much better off if regular English was based on creative writing too, not just one question on paper 1 of English Language. English Literature is such bullshit, being forced to analyse the immortal words of creative minds, but unable to pen my own.

I’m Moritz Steifel, I’m 16, so am in year 11 of secondary school. I live in Tibshelf, so go to Tibshelf Comprehensive Secondary School, which is in the middle of nowhere. It’s a nowhere town, full of nowhere people going nowhere. And I’m one of them.

While Tibshelf is decidedly boring, we still have the train station that my father manages, though there really isn’t much to manage as trains very rarely stop here. They just kind of pass through, but we still have to do the signalling. He doesn’t talk much, though. We mostly just sit in silence as he watches TV and I work. Since mum died we kind of grew apart.

I don’t just write. I also fancy myself as a musician - I play piano in school but I’m really a guitarist at heart and in private. The music lessons were a good option for me, they’re real fun though Mr Sonnenstich could stand to be knocked down a peg or two. He likes to single me out, even though I'm a reasonable pianist. I’ll admit, I’m not as good as Georg, but how can I be? His heart and soul is in piano, and he has been taking extra lessons with Miss Grossebustenhalter since we were 12. Sonnenstich just doesn’t like me.

“Fantastic, the Angels weep with joy.” Sir said after the class had finished playing the assigned hymn, “Now, about the winter talent show.”

The whole class audibly groaned in unison.

“Silence. As year 11 students it is obligatory that you participate. This is your last chance to really ‘strut your stuff’. Obligatory. Understand?”

“Yes, Mr Sonnenstich.” The class droned in unison.

“Right, well another thing is...” Sonnenstich began again.

We all tuned him out, this is where my work is now distributed. It’s really a very succinct operation, well refined over the past couple of years, the distribution of the papers. You see, since year 7 I’ve built up quite the reputation as “the English guy”, as in I’m good at English. So since Year 9 I’ve been doing people’s homework tasks for English, for a fee of course. It’s mostly been creative writing, though I do write the occasional poetry essay. It started out as favours for friends, but soon it began to spread until Ilse declared that I had to charge people as my “good nature was being taken advantage of and [she] would be damned if I didn’t capitalise on it like anyone else in the capitalist society would”. That Ilse, what a character.

Anyway, for the works I charge £3 per page, as per Ilse’s suggestion, which comes in handy for little things like utility bills and rent. Seems as though station managing doesn’t pay much in small towns.

“Silence, year 11!” Sonnenstich shouted, hitting his baton on the desk in front of him, “Will you all please turn to page 47. The choir may stand. 3, 2 1.”

We began to play, Melchior Gabor and Wendla Bergmann’s voices reaching the loudest, their voices harmonising perfectly as they sang some old hymn. I liked listening to Melchior and Wendla sing, especially Melchior. He has a voice that sounds like how melting hazelnut spread tastes.

In case you hadn’t guessed already, this is not a love story.

After Music I had 20 minutes of break time before I got to go to Maths. I signed up for the winter talent show, against my wishes, and headed to The Cave where I met up with my friends.

It may surprise you to discover I have friends, and I often am too. Surpised, that is. My friends are Ilse, Martha, Anna, Georg and Ernst, though Ernst doesn’t hang out with us as much as he used to, he sometimes hangs out with his boyfriend's, Hanschen’s, friends instead. The 6 of us gather in what is dubbed The Cave, formerly The Bit Inbetween Global and Science, around the lone bench we had to drag in there ourselves. It’s fun, we just talk and laugh.

After English Literature (fourth period) was lunch, but I stayed behind a bit to speak with Mrs Gabor.

“Wow. 6 different interpretations of “Describe something beautiful”, I’m impressed.” she said as she cleaned the whiteboard.

“Thank you, but, uh, it’s just the 1.”

“That’s what I tell the bartender.”

“How come you don’t turn me in? Tell Knochenbruch?” I asked, perching on the edge of a desk.

“Then I’d have to read their unoriginal descriptions of their girlfriends.” she replied, chuckling a little to herself, before handing me an application form for Erwachen College.

“Sorry, Miss, I’m going to Durant Sixth Form. It’s closer to home so the bus isn’t as much money as Erwachen.” I replied, handing the form back to her.

“Damn shame, I spent 2 very excellent years at Erwachen, bested only by my four years are Oxford.”

“And look at you here, in boring old Tibby.”

“You’re right, stay away from the liberal arts. At Erwachen they have all the resources to really make you shine, so you can spend the best 4 years of your life at Oxford but manage to stay the Hell away from here.”

“I’ll think it through, Mrs Gabor, just try not to get fired over the weekend, eh?” I said and began to leave.

“Seriously? Everyone in Tibby fears God, but God fears the Teacher’s Union.” she replied, smiling at to herself at her own little joke.

As I biked home from school, I heard someone running after and calling me. I didn’t want to stop, I had a lot of work to do that night and didn’t want to delay it. Some sleep would’ve been nice. But they grabbed me on the shoulder somehow, so I fell.

“What the fuck!” I yelled uncontrollably, freeing myself from under my bike and dusting some dirt from my uniform.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry!” the perpetrator yelled, trying to help me. I looked up from my uniform to see she was none other than Wendla Bergmann.

“Oh, Wendla, I'm, um, sorry for swearing.” I mumbled out, we hadn’t spoken in a while. So few opportunities now we were older, in different tutor groups.

“No it’s fine, I startled you. I need your help.”

I was not expecting that from Wendla, always so honest and pure. “Well it’s £3 per page. What’s the prompt?”

“Oh, no, Moritz I’m not trying to cheat.”

“Nobody really is Wendla. Whose class is this for? I swear you’re in Schmidt's”

“No, it’s just, um. Here.” she said, handing me an envelope.

“What’s this?” I asked, cautiously taking it.

“A letter.”

“Wow, old-fashioned much.” I said jokingly.

“It’s romantic.” She said, smiling and playing with the hem of her dress.

I glanced at her quizzaciously, opening the envelope hesitantly. It was addressed to Melchior Gabor.

“Nope. Nuh-uh. No way, can’t help you.” I replied, handing the letter back to her.

“Please Moritz? I just need some words, some good ones and I know you’re good at-”

“No, I’m not writing to Melchi- I’m not, uh, writing to some guy, it’s wrong. A letter is personal, so it needs to be authentic.” I explained, sitting on my bike, ready to go.

“That’d be really good, actually.”

“God, Wendla, I can’t pretend to be you being authentic. Just get a thesaurus. Read some, uh, poetry. Watch an old movie. Use spell check. Good luck out there, Juliet.” I said and rode away.

“I’ll pay you more! For authenticity!” Wendla shouted after me, but she didn’t follow.

  
  


When I got home I made some instant noodles and sat in front of the TV. Father was watching garbage. _Brain rot_ , I thought. As I sat down the lights flickered.

“Did you call the power company?” I asked hesitantly, not sitting down.

“I don’t know the number.” father replied, not even looking away from the TV.

“I’ll call tomorrow then.” I replied, resignedly, and wandered into my attic room to spend the rest of my evening.

  
  


Tomorrow arrived and I rang them 1st thing. I was on hold for the whole bike ride.

For the half hour I spent with Ilse, Ernst and Hanschen before Tutor Time, I was still on hold, quietly answering the automated questions.

During Tutor Time, I remained on hold, but shared a knowing look with Mrs Gabor to ensure my safety. She understood, as did my desk mate Ilse. Ilse knows a thing or two about barely scraping by and difficult calls to utilities companies.

It wasn’t until I was in the bustling corridors on the way to Latin that I came off of hold, but before that, I bumped into someone, scattering my various Latin papers and latest book on the floor.

“Shit!” I exclaimed hushedly as I knelt down to scramble together my things before the damage done was too deadly.

“Here, let me help.” someone with a smooth, hazelnut spread voice said, beginning to assist me in gathering my papers. I looked up to see none other than Melchior Gabor.

“I’m Moritz Steifel.” I said, stupidly, most of my things gathered in my hands.

“I know, you’ve only been playing piano in my music class since Year 9. I find that you’re a much better accompanist than Georg, he’s more of a soloist.” Melchior replied, gazing into my eyes with his own.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” he said, picking up my book, The Catcher in the Rye, as we stood up, “Catcher in the Rye. Loved it. The lies, the deceit, the sadness.” he trailed off handing the book back to me.

As I opened my mouth to reply, Knochenbruch came out of his office, so Melchior simply smiled at me and walked briskly away. I paused, watching him, before remembering myself and starting off to Latin. 

“I’m Moritz Steifel.” I said to myself, mocking my past interaction as I brought my phone back up to my ear.

“Yes, I know. Your bill is 3 months overdue Mr. Steifel. If we don't get a minimum payment of £30, the power will terminate tomorrow.” the power lady on the phone said, and hung up.

Wendla materialised beside me.

“Ugh, fine. £30, one letter, then you’re flying solo.” Moritz said, not even looking at Wendla.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Wendla exclaimed hugging Moritz and breaking into a huge grin before running off to her lesson.

One letter, that’s all it was going to be.


	2. Longing, Longing For a Wave of Love to Swell Up in Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time to see the rest of the gang lmao.

_Dear Melchior Gabor,_

_I think you’re very handsome. But, even if you were ugly, I would still want to know you, because you’re smart and funny too._

Me and Wendla sat opposite each other in the canteen during lunch. We were going over what Wendla had already written in her letter to Melchior. I’m not the best at articulating my feelings, but this was just depressing.

_It’s actually quite hard to find all those things in a boy. But even if you were only 2 of those things, like handsome and smart, then I’d be into it._

_But you’re all three, to clarify._

“He’s like, all three of those things.” Wendla said, almost like she was trying to explain herself.

“Thank you for being clear about that.” I replied, slightly sarcastically.

_About me. Some people think I’m the cutest one in my family. Those people being my Grandma, who’s dead now. Never mind about my dead Grandma._

I gave her a quick look.

_All I’m saying is that I like fries, I like dipping them in my milkshake. Is that weird? Some people think it’s weird but it’s actually delicious. Would you maybe like to try it with me sometime? I work in the florist’s part time. Let me know whenever._

_Thanks._

_Wendla Bergmann, soprano in the choir._

I slowly looked up from the letter to look at Wendla.

“So, um, what you’re trying to say is-”

“I’m in love with him.”

“Have you ever spoken to him?”

“Well we used to be childhood friends, you remember.”

“I do but have you talked to him recently?” I encouraged her. Those childhood summers were some of the best of my life, before everything became a mess.

“Well, um, no. I’m just not very good with words.”

“But, um, you know you love him?”

“I know I think about him when I wake up. And when I’m singing. And when I’m arranging bouquets with Mama. And when I’m praying-”

“Hang on. That doesn’t necessarily mean you’re in love, Wendla, you’re just stubborn.”

“No, I’m in love. And love makes you go a little crazy.” she replied, perfectly serious, “Don’t you get a little crazy?”

“No, I, um, nevermind.” I went to retort, then redirected my attention to the letter, “Well this is totally salvageable. We could change this bit up a bit, but the fries thing is kind of cute. Also, also, um, we could-”

“Oh, I see. I see, Moritz Steifel.”

“See what?”

“You’ve never been in love.” she said, smiling and laying back in her seat.

“Well of course not I’m 16, but I’ve read, um, read about it extensively.” I replied, a little defensively. Wendla, however seemed, unimpressed, “Right, Wendla, you want a letter about love?”

“Yes please.”

“Then I’ll write you a letter about love.” I said and then stood up, waving a quick goodbye before I left for The Cave.

  
  


“Ritz! There you are, we were starting to get worried!” Ilse said as I stepped into The Cave, quickly enveloping me in a hug.

“Worried? About me? Well, Ilse Neumann, I’m flattered.” I replied, a little mockingly.

“Shut it, we’ve got guests.” She said, motioning to the bench. Ernst and Hanschen had joined us. They waved.

“So, what’s been keeping you, Mo?” Ernst asked.

“Oh, nothing, just some, um, assignment.” I lied, sweating a little despite the drizzly weather. I’m a terrible liar.

“Oh really? What for?” Georg chimed in.

“Um, uh, it’s for, um,” I stumbled, sweating more and more trying to scramble together an answer, “Um, English. English Language. It’s, uh, extra writing work for paper 2 that Gabor assigned me for practice. You know how we’re sort of friends.”

They seemed to buy it, and dropped the subject.

_Later . . ._

Captain Ilse    
ur lying

The Ritz    
?

Captain Ilse    
earlier, with the assignment   
somethings going on, ritz   
will you pls tell me?

The Ritz    
sorry, ilse but i don’t know how   
much i can say   
i’ll tell u this tho, it’s a client   
thing k

Captain Ilse    
so like client confidentiality?

The Ritz    
ding ding ding   
we have a winner   
we cool?

Captain Ilse    
ofc

The Ritz    
promise u won’t tell the others?

Captain Ilse    
i promise ritz   
in fact, i swear on the pirates   
of the caribbean movies

The Ritz    
holy shit   
that’s serious   
thanks

C  aptain Ilse  
np

I looked up from my phone at my laptop. It was 3am, and I was still hopelessly wracking my brain for ideas for the love letter. The Wim Wenders movie Wings of Desire was on, in the original German as I am fluent, as a form of inspiration. Then it came.

_Longing, longing for a wave of love to swell up in me._

So beautiful. So poetic. I wrote it down, signed (well, forged the signature) and sealed it. Hopefully that would be good enough. If I remember correctly, I slept soundly that night. Got a good 3 hours.

  
  


“He wrote back.” Wendla said after school, after having once again caught up with me.

“Great, um, what did he say?” I asked, dismounting.

“He said, _I like Wim Wenders too. I wouldn’t have plagiarised him though, nice try._ ” she read.

I smiled. He got it, he got my dumb little reference.

“So you blew it! And who even is Wim Wenders? Why’d you cheat off him?” she asked, a little hysterically.

“I didn’t cheat off him!” I replied indignantly.

“Yeah you did. I’m not an idiot, Moritz, I know what plagiarism is.”

“Look, this is good. He replied. It’s like, uh, a challenge.” I replied, trying my best to English my way into this. Game on, Melchior Gabor.

“A challenge? Isn’t that bad?” she asked.

“No, like a good challenge. Like a test to see if we can, um, how do I put it? A test to see if we can seduce him on an intellectual level.”

“Oh, right. So we’re still in the game?” she asked, very obviously hoping for a yes.

“Yes. Yay!” I replied, mock-enthusiastically and weakly high-fiving Wendla.

The one letter thing went out the window pretty sharpish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, and for the nice comments on the last chapter. i'm going to try and update every friday, but we'll see how long that once lasts lol.


	3. In Love, One Always Starts by Deceiving Oneself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's more letters and we may get to hang out with the gang.

_ Dear Melchior, _

_ Alright, alright. You got me. _

_ Sometimes, I hide behind other people’s words. For one thing, I know absolutely nothing about love. How can I? I’m 15 _

“You’re still 15 right Wendla?”

“Yes, we’re not all old ones like you Moritz.”

_ I’m 15. I’ve lived in Tibshelf my whole life. _

“That’s so, so sad. Real downer.”

“It’s not a downer. It’s the truth.” I replied.

“Is too. Ask him to hang out.” she demanded, pausing playing with a lock of hair for indignation.

“What exactly do you mean by hanging out?”

“You know. Hanging out.” Wendla shrugged.

“You’re just, um, repeating yourself.” I replied, a little embarrassed. Always knew my stupidity would be unmasked.

“You have friends right?” she asked.

“Wow.” I replied, pretending to be offended, “That’s a little uncalled for.”

“No I didn’t mean it like, ugh. Jeez Moritz, I’m sorry. I just, you do have friends, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Well it’s-” she began, before we were interrupted.

Thea, followed quietly by Martha and Anna, burst through the doors of the music room. Martha and Anna were, arm in arm, quietly discussing something or other. Probably a date.

“Wendla! How’s it going?” Thea asked, half shouting. She’s loud.

“Oh, uh, nothing much, just studying with Moritz.” she replied hastily, motioning to me with a panicked look in her eye. I simply waved.

“Cool.” Thea said, sparing me a glance for a split second before returning her attention to Wendla, “We were just off to Drama. Wanna hang out?”

Wendla gave me a pleading look. I simply nodded my blessing. I’ll be fine here by myself, I said, I can write this letter on my own. So I returned to the letter once the 4 girls were out of the room.

_ I hang out with my friends. Keep my head down. I’m a simple girl. Which is to say, that if I knew what love was, I’d quote myself. _

  
  


“Lord, I can’t believe mocks are next week!” I lamented to my friends in The Cave at lunch a couple of days after I sent the letter.

“God, Mo, I know right. They’re so gonna kick my ass.” Hanschen responded, laying down on the bench surface, much to everyone’s annoyance.

“‘They’re gonna kick your ass’ my arse, Hanschen. You’re the top of the year, these mocks are easy for you.” Ilse said, playfully shoving Hanschen, prompting him to sit up.

“Yeah, Hansi, you’ll be fine.” Georg chimed in.

“Fine, fine. Just trying to relate to you dickheads. Guess you won’t be needing  _ my  _ help revising then.” he replied, dramatically standing up, not forgetting Ernst’s hand, and began to dramatically storm off.

“No sorry Hanschen, we love you, Hanschen, please stay Hanschen.” We all said in unison, as he stopped and sat back down, smiling a little. We sat in silence for a minute.

“Holy shit! Is that Wendla Bergmann?” Ilse asked, pointing towards the mouth of the cave. I looked in the direction she was pointing to see none other than Wendla Bergmann walking towards our bench with purpose.

“Oh my God, I think it is.” Ernst said.

“She’s walking here, with purpose?” Hanschen confirmed.

“Moritz! Otto said I’d find you here!” Wendla exclaimed, breaking into a grin, when she arrived at our bench. The whole group looked at me, then back at Wendla.

“Hey, Wendla, um, what’s up?” I asked, hesitantly.

“You know, the usual. I just need to borrow you for a quick minute. Hang on, are these your friends?” she asked, motioning to the rest of the bench.

“Uh, yes. Wendla, these are Ilse Neumann, Georg Zirschnitz, Ernst Robel, and Hanschen Rilow. Guys, this is Wendla Bergmann.” I replied.

“Great, wonderful to see you all. Especially you, Ilse, it’s been a while.” she said, smiling sincerely.

“It has. Too long. When did we last see each other?” Ilse replied, leaning towards Wendla on her elbows.

“Hmm, must’ve been the summer when we were 10. We played fairies and pirates. Do you remember?” 

“Oh yes! Of course, such wonderful times. We must catch up some time over a nice cup of tea.” Ilse suggested, smiling so wide it almost contested Wendla’s friendly grin. Almost.

“We should. Really it’s lovely to see you all, but I really need to steal Moritz for a minute, is that alright?” she asked, hand already having a grip on my arm.

They all nodded and Wendla dragged me to a more secluded corner of the cave as the conversation resumed.

“What’s up?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“He wrote back! Yay!” Wendla replied, barely containing her joy.

“Really? What did he say?”

_ Dear Wendla _

_ Did you know that it takes 11 muscles to yawn? _

_ This is the kind of strange fact I find myself recalling while trying to prevent myself yawning. Or from showing anything I feel, really. _

_ So, yeah. I turn to other people’s words too. _

_ When you’re a handsome boy, and I know I must sound like a real asshole, but that’s why you’re writing to me. Right? _

We shared a look.

_ When you’re handsome, people want to give you things. Like books and ties. But what they really want is to make you like them. Not like them in the sense of “I like you”, but like them in the sense of “I am like you, we are alike.”. _

_ So, I guess I’m like a lot of people. Which kind of makes me no one. _

“So, can I text him yet?” Wendla asked, hopefully.

“No, it’s, um, it’s too soon.” I replied, skimming the letter again. He wrote well, had such a beautiful mind.

“Nah. I’m gonna text him.” she said, getting her phone out her blazer pocket.

“No! Only if you want him to, uh, think you’re like everyone else!” I cried, gently lowering her phone.

She sighed, and tapped on her phone, sending me £30 on Paypal.

Guess this really was escalating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really love the ilse x wendla ship, so i may see if i can work that in. also hernst is established already. thanks for reading?


	4. And Ends by Deceiving Others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kind of a filler chapter. there's more letters and we get hang out with the gang in the cave some more. i really like writing about the friends.

_ Wow, I guess I’ve never really thought about the oppression of fitting in before. I suppose that the good thing about being different is that no one expects you to be like them. _

And thus mine and Wendla’s little project began to be integrated into the routine. Me and Wendla would hang out, we’d discuss Melchior and the letters, send the letters, then he’d write back, and then the cycle would begin again.

_ That’s pretty true, I suppose. But doesn’t everyone think they’re different? Though, we’re pretty much all different in the same way, I guess. _

“Wendla! Welcome back to The Cave, second time this week and it’s only Wednesday!” joked Ilse as Wendla walked up to our bench at lunch time. This was becoming a regular occurrence, “What brings you to this gross little alcove?”

“Well hello to you too Ilse.” Wendla replied, booping Ilse on the nose playfully, “Part of my mission here is to speak with Moritz, as per usual. But I also just wanted to hang out with you guys today.”

“Really? In here?” Georg asked, motioning to the brick tunnel around us in all its glory, from the slabs on the floor stained with various food fights of lunches past and the ceiling encrusted in spider eggs. It was not a nice place to be.

“Yes.”

“But, it’s so gross. And it’s cold.” I interjected, as surprised as the rest of the table.

“I have a coat. And I like hanging out with you lot, so I’m willing to brave the harsh conditions.” Wendla explained, raising an eyebrow in confusion. She’s not an outcast, so she doesn’t understand our confusion.

“If you insist, but know the risks, child-” Ilse began, standing on the table surface for dramatic effect.

“I’m older than you. And taller-”

“Hush! Are you willing to risk being caught in the crosshairs of the occasional water fight?”

“Yes, captain.”

“Ooh, I like that. Are you willing to assist in the half-termly retrieval of the bench?”

“Yes, captain.”

“Are you willing to die to defend The Cave from Year 7s and other pesky lower years?”

“What? No?” Wendla said, her soldierly stance breaking.

“Good choice, just testing. Now, you may borrow Moritz and hang out in the cave whenever you please, and are hereby granted a plus one.” Ilse said, crouching down slightly and knighting Wendla with her badly crumpled water bottle.

Ilse’s fucking weird, but that’s why we love her.

_ Says the boy shrouded in mystery, yet somehow perched comfortably at the top of Mt. Popularity. _

Melchior never smiled properly around his friends. I came to notice that a week into these little back and forth letters. He just kind of sat there, like a rock, passively bobbing along the conversational river, nodding like one of those bobbleheads on a car dashboard. Not like the bold, brave, clever man I knew him to be, both from our childhoods and from the letters. He seemed distant. Detached.

_ Easy there, Little Miss I Know Nothing About Love. I may surprise you. _

“What the fuck are you two doing?” I asked, mistakenly, as I entered The Cave after English Lit. That’s a very dangerous question to ask in a place like The Cave. I was shushed immediately.

“They’re cramming. They’ve got a mock in History next.” Ernst whispered to me as I perched on the bench seat. Hanschen and Ilse were hunched over an exercise book on the bench surface, whispering an argument.

“Why are they studying so hard? Tibshelf’s shite, it has like no history.” I whispered back.

“While that’s true, Ilse also didn’t pay attention much for that exact reason. So Hanschen’s teaching her.” Ernst explained.

“Oh, okay. I could tell them about the train station if they wanted. I do live there, after all.” I said. 

“No need, Mo, I’ve got it all covered.” Hanschen said, glaring at me, before returning to his book. 

When Wendla and Georg arrived, Georg immediately joined Ilse and Hanschen at the exercise book, while Wendla skipped over to me and Ernst.

“What’s up with them?” Wendla asked, not sitting down.

“History mock next.” Ernst and I replied in unison, laughing it off.

Wendla smiled, and joined in the laughter.

_ What’s surprising is that people don’t see what they’re not looking for. _

“So, what do you wanna do after school?” 

I overheard some girls talking to each other Friday morning before form opened up, as I stood waiting in the English corridor. My music was already over. Mrs. Gabor was in a meeting, this I knew as I could see Melchior near the printer, within earshot.

“We could, um, go somewhere with trees?”

“Maybe. How about The Cricket Pitch, we could hang out there.”

“Yeah, the trees there are so beautiful, we could get some wicked shots for Snapchat.”

“You seen Marianna Wheelan’s story?”

“Yeah, she looks so gross.”

“Why would she post that? Like, what the hell?”

“Honestly no clue.”

“Oh I think Bobby Maler just got here, he posted this on his story.”

“God, Marianna’s so lucky, as are all his friends.”

This was a dumb conversation, but I just couldn’t stop listening.

“So lucky, Em. His family owns most of Tibshelf and some of Pilsley.”

“Really?”

“Yes really! Most people around here don’t even own their houses. Like Melchior Gabor.”

I glanced at Melchior as they said that. He heard it, I could tell. His facial expression morphed from aloof indifference to a little pained, as he walked off towards the library.

_ The obvious unseen. _

“Care to explain this?” Mrs Gabor said after the rest of the students had left, holding up a letter I had written to Melchior from Wendla. Shit.

“What? I’ve, um, I’ve never s-seen that before, M-Miss.” I replied, lying very poorly.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Steifel! Is this why the English Department has been complaining about the sudden poor quality of students’ homework?” she demanded, placing the letter on her desk. I was in deep shit.

“Look, Miss, I’m sorry. I’ll be open for business again soon I promise.”

She raised an eyebrow at me.

“It can’t go on for much longer.”

“Knowing my son, it can and probably will.” she said, taking a sip of tea.

“I’ll reopen soon. See you Wednesday.” I replied and left for the cave again.

This had to end soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed that. fun fact - the school and general setting are based entirely on where i live. i'm really out there writing about my old school with graduation goggles huh.


	5. That is What the World Calls a Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> damn i hope i didn't fuck up this really important and beautiful scene. the film does a better job, it was hard to write around, sorry if it's bad.

_Wendla,_

_I’ve been thinking about what you said - about seeing and not seeing._

_My mother once told me that the difference between a good poem and a great poem is typically 5 lines. She said that they’re usually the 5 boldest lines in the poem._

_The question, of course, is which 5 lines?_

“That’s deep.” said Wendla, “Is it a metaphor?”

“Perhaps. I, uh, I see what his mum means, though. I’ve read, um, a lot of good poetry, but, um, the great ones are so bold and out there.” I replied, reading through the letter again, already formulating my response.

“Can I text him?”

“No. Where, um, did you even get his number?” I asked. I had been wondering that. I myself only have 4 friend numbers - I do not have Hanschen’s number.

“Well, not text-text. Like, message him on Instagram.

“Oh, right.”

_Melchior,_

_I get it. After one has slaved away writing a pretty good poem, the last thing you want to do is write another line and potentially-_

“Fuck me, that mock was horrible!” Ilse said, collapsing on the bench.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Hanschen said, not looking up from his phone.

“Hansi I swear to God I will scrape out your internal organs with a rusty spoon.”

“Sheesh, sorry, Ilse.”

“You are forgiven, but you’re on thin fucking ice, Rilow.” she replied, sitting up and pointing a finger at him menacingly.

“It was, um, a pretty mean mock. I mean, uh, having us compare one of the other poems to _Singh Song!_? Examiners are sadistic.” I interjected, slouching onto the bench seat.

“And it was 2 hours and 15 minutes long.” Georg added.

“Wendla!” Ilse said as, you guessed it, Wendla approached the table, “How’d you find the mock?”

“No.”

_Potentially ruin everything._

_That’s why I gave up writing poetry. Still, I wonder if that is how I’m living my life. It’s a pretty good life. Probably the best one could hope for in a sleepy little town like Tibshelf._

It was Saturday, after winter mocks. I heard a bunch of people were having a party on the cricket pitch to celebrate, but I didn’t go. Not a party kind of guy.

Ilse went, though. She posted some videos on Snapchat of the event. There were sparklers, and alcohol, not a good combination. Bobby Maler did some dumb shit, like handstands and climbing some of the trees.

Melchior was in the background, rolling his eyes so much that after one particularly stupid stunt, Ilse zoomed in on his face, like he was on The Office or something.

_Perhaps. But how well do you really know Tibshelf?_

_On Wednesday, go to Winkpenny Lane, bring a sharpie. You’ll know why when you see it._

Winkpenny Lane is just a back lane kind of deal that goes behind some houses and the High Street. On the back of a pub, The Dog and Bastard, I wrote in black Sharpie “any 5 lines” in the neatest handwriting I could manage.

**You.**

That was all he wrote, in fairly neat, blue letters.

_Oh? That’s your boldest line?_

**You’re like a sunflower.**

That was my contribution.

_I’m into the slow build! What was that?_

**Open and bright,** **  
** **Tall and lean,** **  
  
**

_Decisiveness. But please, take all the time you need to be bold._

**You wouldn’t fit well in the punk rock scene,**

_Is this bold enough for you?_

**But you look to the light,** **  
** **With you eyes shining bright,  
** **And assure me that everything is going to be alright.**

**Me?**

_And thus were extended metaphors born._

**I’m more of a moonflower.**

_And transforme_ _d. Is that really a plant?_

**Closed up and dark,** **  
** **Short and stout,**

_I guess? If not, it should be. Finish it after this._

**I’m not one you’d really talk about,**

_I’ll be bold about it._

**But I come out at night,** **  
** **And talk, we just might,** **  
** **But I sit staring at my computer screen despite.**

I visited after and smiled. It was a nice poem. Good use of caesura, and the trailing off at the end. Despite what?

It didn’t last though. The guy who owns The Dog and Bastard painted over it after a week.

**Or not.**

Melchior wrote.

**Everything beautiful is ruined eventually.**

Bleak. Probably not my best work, but reasonable enough.

_Melchior,_

_Maybe that’s the thing._

_If you do ruin your poem, you have to know you’ve got everything in you to get back to that pretty good poem._

“Mo?” Ernst asked, as I sat writing in a notebook.

“Yes, Ernie.”

“What are you writing?”

“Song.”

“Neat. Can I read?” he asked.

“No, not finished.”

_Wendla,_

_But, if you never write the bold lines…_

_You’ll never know if you could’ve had a great poem._

  
  


“When does the actual going out start?” Wendla asked, sat upside down on a chair in the music room.

“This is going out.” I said, thinking about how to respond to the letter.

“No it’s not, Mo! Going out is, like, getting fish and chips, or coffee, or going to the cinema.” she replied, sitting up properly and looking at me over the back of her chair.

“Well, um, sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think it’s the right time. Now, if you could help with-”

“Screw it-”

“Careful, Wendy, that was dangerously close to an actual swear word.” I said, mockingly.

“No, screw it, I’m texting him.” she said, taking her phone out of her blazer pocket and beginning to type.

“Wait! No! Stop!” I said, scrambling to get her phone. She blocked me with her other arm.

“Come on, Moritz, live a little! At some point, you’ve got to close!”

“We’re not at that point yet!”

“Come one, we’re way past that point.” she said, standing up and darting towards the white board.

She sent the message.

FaerieQueen   
🐟 🍟 ☕ tonight? My 🏡 is nearby!  
😃!

“Oh my God why the fuck did you do that?”

“I don’t know, Mo, I’m sorry! I instantly regret it- he’s typing!” Wendla said, becoming very panicked.

“He’s typing?” I said, already panicking.

“He is. Oh but he’s not anymore.”

“No! I don’t message people much, but that’s pretty much the worst thing that could happen!”

“Oh no! I’m done, I’m so done, I’m sorry I wasted your time and your talents.”

“Hang on. We can fix this. You have discord?” I asked, sitting down.

“What?”

“Pass me your phone.” I said. She handed it to me and sat beside me.

FaerieQueen   
cousin hacked my phone.  
could we please take this to a more  
secure platform?  
discord, perhaps?  
my user is b_pavlikovsky #1531

“Who’s B Pavlikovsky?”

“Just a guy.”

The dots indicating typing showed again before disappearing.

“No!” Wendla cried in frustration, taking her head in her hands.

My phone suddenly lit up. I had a new discord message.

“Wendy I think we’re back in the game. He messaged me.”

Gretchens_Baby   
So… where are the aforementioned 🍟?  
  


“Yes!” We both exclaimed, actually high fiving.

“So, uh, it’s down to you now I guess.” I said, quickly replying with the local chip shop.

“Oh. Should be fine, I’ve been told I’m perfectly amiable.”

“I should hang around nearby shouldn’t I.”

“Please do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck, that poem thing was really hard to format. hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.
> 
> i also headcanon that wendla is the friend that doesn't swear ever, so the rest of her friends are making it their mission to make her swear. i have a friend like this.


	6. He was a Planet Without an Atmosphere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> melchi and wendy have their date. it goes totally fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contains spoilers from the goldfinch (you'll see). chapter title also from the goldfinch.

“Right, uh, remember, he prefers confessional poetry over romanticism.” I said, pacing in front of Wendla, who was sitting on a wall a minute or 2 away from the fish and chip shop. 

“Got it.”

“And if he, um, brings up The Goldfinch, then, uh, you should talk about how the, uh, movie handles the character of Theo’s mother, Audrey, rather poorly, in the sense that, um, in the movie we don’t know her name and don’t see her face until the end, uh, whereas in the book we get to really know and love her, which makes the loss of her and Theo’s pain more visceral. And, um-”

“Mo, relax, I’ve got this.” Wendla said, stopping me in my tracks as I turned to face her.

“But, he’s-”

“Moritz.” she said, standing up and holding my upper arms, “This is a date. This is not a discussion in English Literature.”

I simply nodded. She let go of me and smiled before bounding off to meet Melchior at the chip shop. I sat myself down on a bench across the street, far enough away to appear uninvolved in the transpiring events, but close enough that I could keep tabs. There would be some fall out to deal with after this.

They both ordered the same thing of a small fish - the sizes for the fish in the chip shop are misleading, never ever order the large - and shared a large chips - good for two people. There was a lot of smiling, a little laughing. Playful flirtation, I think. Not like I’d really know. After collecting their orders, they walked across the street and sat a couple of benches from me. I could hear them from there, we had planned this.

“So, I brought you something.” Melchior said, quickly retrieving said item from his backpack. It was a book. Shit.

“The Goldfinch?” Wendla asked, a hint of nervousness appearing. She didn’t remember what I told her. This would not be good.

“Yeah. I got two copies when Donna was at Waterstones in Sheffield a little while back. I rode the train by myself for the first time.”

“Wow.” Wow? Just a wow, Wendy? Really? Public transportation alone is terrifying!

“Yeah, it was terrifying. You’ve almost definitely already read it, but it’s signed by Donna so I thought you might like one.” he said, a little downcast.

“Oh, um, yeah, of course. Thank you so much, Melchior.” she said, audibly smiling. Then she ruined it, “Yeah, I just love mums, um, dying.”

Oh, Wendla.

“No, um, I mean like the one in the, um, book. Like more of those mums, uh, dying. Am I right?” she was turning into me.

“Well, speaking of, um, death.” I swear Melchior’s a conversational wizard, “I have to be back to my house soon. No people are dead, but I need to water my plants.”

“You have plants? What kind?” Wendla asked in between chips.

“Mostly succulents, but I have a couple of spider plants and a heartleaf philodendron. I think I might graduate to a hibiscus soon.” he said, chattering a little excitedly, like he did when he was talking about a passion.

“That’s pretty neat.” 

“Yeah. They’re a nightmare to try and water properly though. Fucking root rot.”

“Um, yeah. Root rot. Ugh.” Jesus fucking christ.

They sat in silence for a bit, that grey evening. It had been drizzly earlier, and would probably rain again soon. But they ate their fish and chips.

“It’s nice to make a new friend, though.” Melchior said after he finished off his fish.

“Oh, a friend.” Wendla replied, disappointedly getting another chip.

“Good. Friendship is nice.”

“Yeah.”

Silence and eating again.

“They use the same vinegar that we do at home.” Wendla said, taking the second to last chip.

“Oh.”

“It’s, um, it’s from Aldi. But it’s nice stuff.”

I was not impressed, but honestly wouldn’t have done much better. I left the bench immediately after that, I couldn’t bear to hear any more of this.

  
  


“Mo, it was not that bad.” Wendla said as we walked home from school the next day.

“What about that date wasn’t bad? Um, I mean, ‘mums dying’, Wendla? Was that the best you could come up with? You have nothing in common.” 

“Right, 1, like you could do much better, Moritz Steifel. And 2, we don’t yet!”

“I’m telling you, Wendy, it’s over.” I said, kind of sad. This wasn’t what I wanted, I had grown rather fond of Wendla Bergmann.

“I’m not giving up.” she replied indignantly.

“Look, um, hate to break it to you, but you and Melchior Gabor is never going to happen.”

“You don’t know that, you’re not psychic.” 

“Melchior Gabor thinks you like confessional poetry and dark academia literature.”

“Yeah, Mo. Your point is?” 

“That’s not you! You’re all flowers and fairies!”

“Hey, it could be me. I started reading The Goldfinch.”

I stopped, so did she.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a blinking long book and drags a bit, but I’m still trying, Mo. That has to count for something.”

“Well, um, I think that’s sweet and all. But, you, um, you don’t get points for effort.” I replied, resuming walking. 

“But isn’t that what love is? How much effort you put into loving someone?”

“I’m not sure. But whatever love is, we just blew it with Melchior Gabor.” I said, then took my phone out my pocket. “Hey I just got a message from him.”

Gretchens_Baby   
So that was...weird?

“Yes!” Wendla said, before reading, and her face fell. “No, I can do this.”

I looked at her in disbelief.

“Well, I mean we can do this Mo.” she said, as it began to rain.

“Shit, do you have an umbrella?”

She did, and immediately opened it over our heads.

“Whatever you say, Fairy Queen.”

“I’ll pay you double.”

“No, really, you don’t have to. I’ll do it for free.” I said. “Thanks for the umbrella.”

“Don’t mention it. But seriously, Mo, why else would you do this, don’t be weird. Besides, I have savings.” she said.

We talked some more before departing to our separate houses. I felt kind of bad about the whole payment thing. I’d have to bring it up next time, it was becoming more of a friend thing than a client thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed it, i had a p fun time writing it. the wendla and moritz friend dynamic is something i wish i saw more of. also melchi is a plant dad you cannot convince me otherwise. also also, the next chapter's bloody long, bring snacks.


	7. Make Sure You Marry Someone Who Laughs at the Same Things You Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the research and preparation for the second date type thing. strap yourselves in, folks, this one's a long 'un.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter title is from the catcher in the rye. contains spoilers for dead poets society, the bell jar, knives out and the perks of being a wallflower. read at your own risk if you don't like spoilers.

“Good news for you, Wendy.” I said as we exited Latin, “Your next date is next Friday.”

“Next Friday? Why not this Friday?” she asked, fighting through the corridor with me.

“You told him that you’re busy at the florist’s.”

“I did? Do not remember that.”

“Well, I did. You know, um, on Discord, pretending to be you.”

“Oh yeah. Thanks Mo.”

“No problem. You’re also, though I suppose it’s technically me, locked in a pretty intense debate about which you should read first out of The Bell Jar and The Catcher in The Rye.”

“The what and the who?”

“I’ll explain later. Anyway, we need these couple of weeks to teach you about yourself, um, well about how Melchior perceives you.”

“Mo please talk simpler.”

“Right, um, we’re going to spy on him. And then I’ll teach you about his top interests so you can use those topics on your date to have meaningful conversation. Got it, Wendy?” I asked, almost crashing into her as I was shoved by a particularly angry Year 9.

“Think so. See you in The Cave.” she replied, waving goodbye.

  
  


The Cave was having a particularly weird Tuesday, as Georg wasn’t there.

“Where’s Zirschnitz?” Hanschen asked as he sauntered vaguely towards Ernst.

“Don’t know. Is he here today?” Ilse asked, eyes quickly flicking up from her phone. She never used her phone in The Cave.

“Yes? I think? I swear I saw him in Latin.” Ernst replied, bringing Hanschen into a casual one-armed hug.

“Me too, I think. He’s definitely here. We should ask Wendla when she gets here.” I added. This was weird, Georg was always here.

“Hey, Wendy, you seen Georg?” Ilse asked as Wendla took her place next to me.

“Yeah. He’s with Otto, why?” she replied, unbothered.

“Oh, he’s just always here, I suppose.” Ernst said, not really in reply but just to speak about the unspoken. Strange, Georg having a life outside our group.

We sat in silence for a minute.

“Do you know when we’re getting out mock results back?” Wendla asked.

“Jesus, Wendy, we only finished them last week.” Ilse replied, “They don’t mark that fast, you know how History are.”

“Yeah, but they mark Maths papers in like a day, why’s this different?”

Hanschen coughed a little, like he was restraining himself.

“Don’t get him started.” Ernst said, squeezing his hand.

“Why? What’s there to be started about?” Wendla asked, innocently.

“Well, Wendy, you see that they’ve decided they’re not going to tell us our mock results like normal.” Ernst began, “Instead, they’re having a sort of Mock Results Day at the beginning of next term instead.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know. I suppose to simulate the real thing-” Ernst started, before Hanschen cut him off.

“It’s mostly to light a fire up the arses of those still slacking off, to motivate them to get good grades on their actual GCSEs. It’s emotionally manipulative and dumb. I just want my fucking results! I can’t stand the suspense!” Hanschen shouted, his face turning all red.

“Oh, sorry. I should have listened to you, Ernst.”

  
  


At my house that Tuesday night, I began to teach Wendla a few basics.

“So, in Dead Poets Society the main characters are some students who go to Welton Academy. The, um, ability of the students to express themselves is oppressed and discouraged by most of the adults in their lives, particularly Neil’s dad, Mr. Perry.” I said writing the main points on a whiteboard I have in my room.

“That’s insane! He’s his son, he should support him.” Wendla said, not quite getting it.

“Not that easy, Wendla. He’s his father and has been controlling Neil his whole life, and he craves his approval. This, um, idea of being unable to be one’s true self is a core theme in the movie, and Mr. Perry’s rejection of his son’s passion for acting is one of the main reasons for his suicide.” I tried to explain, beginning to gesture a little and talking slower.

“Well my grandmother had a passion for floristry and, despite some initial misgivings, her parents eventually came round when they saw it made her happy.”

“Your grandmother wasn’t being pushed into academia against her wishes, though.”

“My grandmother doesn’t go to ‘Helton’ either.”

“That’s not the point.”

  
  


“Wendla? Are you reading an actual book?” Ilse asked as she moseyed on over to our bench, polystyrene cup of pasta in hand.

“Yes. Both Moritz and Melchior Gabor told me to read this one, so I am.” she replied, briefly looking up.

“Wow, so much to unpack there. So, 1, what book is it?”

“The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt.”

“Right, sounds good, looks fucking long. And 2, you talk to Melchior Gabor?” Ilse asked, taking a seat right between me and Wendla.

“Yes, Me and Melchi are quite good friends.”

“Dear lord you called him Melchi, adorable. You’re still friends with him?”

“Yeah. We grew apart a bit, but reconnected a few weeks ago. You remember how you, me, Melchi and Mo used to be such good friends?” Wendla said, bookmarking her place and putting the book back into her bag.

“Of course. We used to play Pirates and Fairies and, well, we called it Cowboys and Indians but was really Cowboys and Native American stereotypes.”

“Such remarkable times.” I remarked, wistfully.

“Yes. Anyway, Wendy, you ought to invite him here some time. We could bring back that old argument we had about which of us was more like Peter Pan, eh!” Ilse said, beginning to eat her pasta.

“Do not, that one almost destroyed the friendship, parents got involved.”

  
  


“One of the, um, many themes of The Bell Jar is the emptiness of conventional expectations.” I explained, once again writing key words on my white board. It was Thursday, as Dead Poets Society took a couple of days to explain.

“Mo guess what? I’ve started doing hockey at a little club a couple of miles from here. First game’s this weekend, I’m so excited but also nervous” Wendla asked, doing some jumping jacks and suchlike

“Sounds lovely.” I replied, flatly, “So, in the book, Esther feels as though the conventional expectations of society are empty and not at all like, uh, they are built up to be. For example…”

  
  


“I see you’re open for business again.” Mrs. Gabor said to me after English Lit.

“Yes. The letters are done.” I replied.

“Thanks, the English faculty appreciates it.”

“Excellent, Mrs. Gabor. So I better be-”

“But I must ask, is the Bergmann girl still pestering my son?” she asked, I was caught off guard, and turned around to properly look at her.

“I mean, I wouldn’t call it pestering. I’m still trying to help her woo him, if that’s what you’re asking.” I replied, perching on the edge of a desk.

“Hmm, okay.”

“Why? You’re okay with it right? Not that it matters. Melchior’s his own person.”

“Boy do I know it. Nah, I’m fine with it, Moritz, if anything it’s good that he’s making a new friend.” she trailed off, sitting next to me, “Moritz, can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I don’t think my Melchior’s friends make him very happy.”

“How so?”

“I mean, he’s only had them round a few times in the past 5 years. And he’s out with them a couple nights a week, and when he comes home he doesn’t seem all that happy.” she replied, “Right, you really have to promise you won’t tell anyone this next bit.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“I miss his old friends from primary school. I miss when you, Wendla and Ilse would come round and play Pirates or Fairies or Cowboys and Native Americans.”

“I miss it too a little bit. We were so young, so innocent.”

“Yes, indeed. I even miss that silly argument between Melchior and Ilse over who was more like Peter Pan.”

I laughed. She joined me.

“Who do you think it was? Who was more like Peter Pan?” I asked her. She smiled at me a little.

“Ilse, just by a smidge. Don’t tell Melchior, though, he’d kill me.”

  
  


“Why are we in the Small Gym? No offense, Moritz, but you’re not the most physically gifted person.”

Me and Wendla had managed to talk our way into the Small Gym next to Drama for lunch. I had an idea.

“Well, I, uh, read this thing that conversations are like ping pong.”

“Right?”

“But I am embarrassingly shite at ping pong. You know how when we have the trampolines out there are ping pong tables too for those of us who don’t want to go on them?”

“Yeah.”

“Wendla, I’m so shite at ping pong that once, in one of those lessons, I managed to hit a ping pong ball onto one of the trampolines…”

“Wow.”

“Three times.”

“Jeez, Steifel, that is bad. So what are we doing instead.”

“Well, I’m not too tragic at throwing and catching, so we’re doing that instead. Sound good?” I asked, retrieving a ball from the store cupboard.

“How is this like conversation?” Wendla questioned, placing her bag near the door.

“Well, um, I throw it, then you catch and throw it back? Like, I ask a question, then you listen and respond to my question.” I explained, poorly, “Let’s try it.”

I threw her the ball. She caught it and lobbed it back so hard it whizzed past my shoulder and hit the wall.

“Wendla what the fuck!”

“Sorry! I’m a hockey player at heart, we slap those balls!”

“That’s what she said-” I began to laugh, but she punched me, “Ouch.”

  
  


That Friday evening I decided I would treat myself to a movie. I’d heard nice things about Knives Out, so booked my ticket online and caught the bus into Greenfield so I would arrive a little early.

When I got to the cinema, I bought some popcorn, that was then promptly wasted on the floor as I walked directly into someone.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there!” I exclaimed, but quietly it was a family establishment, as I picked my crumpled popcorn bag, only a quarter full now.

“No, no that was my fault. It’s my fault you spilled your popcorn.” the stranger, voice like melting hazelnut spread, said, “In fact, I’ll buy you- hang on, Moritz? Is that you?”

I looked up at the soft brown eyes of Melchior Gabor. Just my luck, turning my nice evening into accidental espionage. “Melchior? Oh, um, I’m so sorry I, uh, bumped into you, you really, uh, don’t have to get me more popcorn I’m, um, I’m fine with this.” I replied, a little flustered, and shook my pathetic bag of popcorn.

“Nonsense, don’t apologise. In fact, I needed an excuse to get a large popcorn, so perhaps we can share? Where are you sitting?” He asked, stepping into the popcorn queue.

“7H, it’s, um, an excellent spot.”

“No shit, I got 6H. No offense, but I was fully pissed when I saw someone had gotten 7H before me. Glad it was you though.” he said, nudging me playfully, “ I’ve gotta ask, though, are you a sweet or salty kind of guy? I am a sweet popcorn kind of lad, but if you like salty I guess-”

“No. I, uh, I like sweet.”

“Good.” he replied and smiled at me.

I’ll never forget watching that movie with Melchior. It was like watching a movie with Cinemasins. For most people, it’s annoying when people make little comments during movies, but the way Melchior did it was so different. He was just so, charming. I totally got why Wendla liked him so much.

“Holy shit I forgot America’s Ass was in this.” he said, as Chris Evans was briefly in shot.

“What?” I asked, practically spitting out my popcorn.

“Chris Evans, Captain America, America’s Ass.” he explained, laughing a little. I laughed too.

When Daniel Craig spoke, he practically spit out his own popcorn. “What the fuck?” he whispered to me.

“I know right, his accent is so wrong. He doesn’t talk like that.”

I’ll now point out a few highlights:

“She looks like Prue Leith. Like, I know she’s Jamie Lee Curtis, but she just does.”

“Woo! Molotov cocktail!”

“I want a donut.”

“I’m so glad someone finally sat in the centre of the knife thing.”

“I can’t believe they did that to Chris Evans. His face is so wonderful.”

“Fuck that was tense. I almost forgot the knife thing.”

After we left, he would not stop gushing about it. 

“That was a pretty good movie. I mean, the props, the acting, the twist. Very twisty.” he said as we exited the theatre.

“Dude you pointed out half the movie’s flaws the whole time. You even did the pronoun game.” I said.

“So? I can critique and enjoy simultaneously.”

“Jesus, how much Cinemasins do you watch?”

“So much, man. I sometimes watch movies just so I can then watch the Cinemasins video without being spoiled.”

  
  


“You did what, Moritz Steifel?!” Ilse shouted at me on Monday.

“I watched a movie with Melchior Gabor.”

“How? Why? What movie?”

“Knives Out. It was a coincidence. I bumped into him after I got popcorn, spilled it, then he let me share his as we happened to be sitting together.” I explained with as much nonchalance as I could muster. Ilse was right to be freaking out, I too had freaked out for the whole Saturday.

“Damn.”

  
  


That Monday lunch me and Wendla had a job. 

“Bobby, may we speak to you please?” Wendla asked, a stolen clipboard in hand, as I hid behind some pillar.

“Sure thing, what’s up, Bergmann?” he asked, walking with Wendla towards my pillar.

“Well, me and Moritz Steifel wanted to ask you some questions. It’s for the yearbook.” she explained, smiling sweetly.

“Alrighty then, shoot.”

  
  


“Are you hungry?” Wendla asked me as we sat, as inconspicuous as possible, on a bench opposite the Gabor house, spying on Melchior. Not proud of it.

“No. Not time to eat.” I replied, focusing on the task at hand.

“Weird.” she paused, “Hey, Mo, can I ask you something?”

“Sorry, Wendy, I’m, uh, busy sleeping in until noon this weekend. Can’t go to your hockey game.” I replied, monotone.

“Not that, I know how much you need the sleep. Why Tibshelf?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘why Tibshelf?’? I don’t know, I didn’t name it.”

“Well, you seem real unhappy here. And I don’t see much of your dad, but when I do he doesn’t seem too jazzed about being here either.” she explained.

“I, um, I should go. You know, um, homework.” I said, getting up from the bench.

“No, please don’t go Moritz.”

“No really I should, You’re not, um, taking the recon seriously anyway.”

“No, it’s just you have this excellent brain. Too excellent to-”

“My brain is not excellent. I shouldn’t waste my few brain cells trying to pair you up with a very clearly uninterested guy.” I interrupted, picking up my bike.

“No, it’s just kind of weird, Mo.” she replied, standing up too.

“You’re kind of weird.”

“Well duh!”

“Enjoy your, your lovely little life in Tibshelf.” I said, ready to go. Then she grabbed my shoulder.

“No! Look, the thing about Dead Poets Society is that Neil’s story is similar to mine. Like, my real passion in life, like my real dream, is in hockey. I just want to play hockey. Singing’s a casual hobby, but hockey is just, ugh, I love it. And I’m not too bad at it.

“But, I’m the youngest child. And my sister’s already gone to pursue her dreams of being an artisan cheese maker. She’s practically broke a lot of the time, and Mama doesn’t want the same for me. So I have to stay and run the family business. I want to play hockey, but she won’t hear a word of it. But if I fully defy her it’ll break her heart and she’ll take it out on me, so it’s either her heart or mine.” she said. I turned around. She was crying, so I awkwardly hugged her.

I sighed before answering. “Well, Wendy, the truth is we can’t go anywhere else. There are no jobs out there for my father. And he can’t leave because my mother’s here. Her death, it, um, it broke something in him. So he has to stay here, yet he’s so far away.” I explained, a few tears coming to my eyes.

“How do you feel about some spaghetti bolognese?” she asked, smiling weakly.

“Nah, I should really get home.”

“Yeah, but we’ve gotta eat.”

  
  


We stopped briefly at Wendla’s house, though it seemed Mr and Mrs Bergmann were having a very loud discussion, so we headed to my house and ate there in my room. My dad said one word: “hello.”

  
  


We were in the small gym again Monday lunchtime.

“Right, um, match, energy. Match throws. And, um, just say one thing. Got it?” I asked,, ready to throw the ball.

“Got it.” Wendla replied, ready to catch.

I threw the ball to her gently. “Where were you born?”

She caught it. “Greenfield hospital.” she said, and threw it back as she asked, “And you?”

I caught the ball. “See? Wasn’t so hard. You did pretty good.” I replied, ignoring her question.

“Yeah, but where were you born?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not, um, good at conversations, but I’m not the one that needs to be.” I replied, fiddling with the ball a little.

“Sorry, Mo, it just seems like a really short conversation.”

“Fine.” I replied, throwing the ball again, “I was born in Queenshop Hospital, that’s in Nottinghamshire.”

“Really? When did you move here?”

“I’m not sure exactly. I was a baby, too young to remember.” I replied, catching before throwing again, “What do you like about Tibshelf?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never lived anywhere else.”

“Me neither, not really.”

  
  


“And so remember, kids, the safest sex is no sex at all.” Mr. Knochenbruch, the headteacher, said, after recounting a fictitious anecdote about some girl who got knocked up that was not real and did not happen, during our assembly that week.

Gretchens_Baby   
Do you think Knochenbruch has ever   
really lived?   
He’s probably never had sex.

I smiled a little at the message

b_pavlikovsky   
i think knochenbruch has lived a   
wild, sexy life   
he has taken many a lover

I saw Melchior’s broad shoulders a few rows in front shudder slightly in laughter. He turned to look at Wendla with a slight smile, and she returned a cheesy grin. She had no idea.

  
  


“Miss?”

“Yes Moritz.” replied Mrs Gabor after English Literature.

“Do you know, um, what it’s like to finally meet someone your age who just, gets you?” I asked, sitting on a table.

“You know where else you can meet people your age who get you? Erwachen.” she replied without turning.

I left, but I felt like she knew I meant Melchior.

  
  


“Why don’t you send him some emojis?” Wendla asked as we walked home from school that Monday afternoon.

“No! I, uh, I can’t send him emojis!” I exclaimed. I’m not an emoji kind of guy.

“Aww come on, why not Mo? You could send the pineapple, the owl, and, um, the caterpillar with glasses!” she replied, very enthusiastic.

“What? What does that even mean? That, uh, that means nothing at all!”

“The glasses make the caterpillar look smart.”

I was baffled. Emojis make no sense.

  
  


We played Conversation Catch again Tuesday break.

“What’s your favourite food?” Wendla asked.

“Um, pancakes. You?”

“Spaghetti bolognese. Do you make your own pancakes?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Do you make your own spag bol?”

“No, but Mama says she’ll teach me when I turn 16.”

“Cool. How was your hockey game, I forgot to ask.”

“Pretty good, we won and I scored one goal.”

“Oh my God, Wendy, congrats! What did the Bergmanns think?”

“Oh, they, um, they weren’t there.” she replied, downcast, and threw the ball back at me. I caught it but let it hang in my hands for a minute.

“Sorry, I guess you haven’t told them yet.” I said, beginning the game again.

“I can’t. As long as they don’t know I’m not technically disobeying.” she said, “Can we change the subject? I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Of course, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“So, um, what was your mum like?”

“Uh, young, funny, dead.” I replied, completely monotone. I had to be, or I’d cry.

“No, like, before she died.”

“You know, you met her.” I replied, throwing a little more forcefully.

“Yeah, but I want to know how you thought of her. Stop deflecting.”

“Ugh, fine. She was, um, she was young, funny, and, um, fun.”

“Sounds cool.”

“Yeah, she was.”

“I bet she would’ve come to my hockey game.” she joked, and we both burst out laughing. I recklessly threw the ball at her.

  
  


Gretchens_Baby   
Why are you always up so late?

b_pavlikovsky   
world’s asleep.   
more room for thoughts.

Gretchens_Baby   
Hour of secrets, huh?

b_pavlikovsky   
i guess   
something a little like that.

Gretchens_Baby   
Ooh, what secrets?

  
  


“Wendla?” I asked.

“Yes, Moritz?” she replied.

We sat back to back on the music room floor, listening to the rain outside. Our poor friends, out there in The Cave.

“What, um, what exactly do you like about Melchior?” I asked her, though I’m not entirely sure what I wanted to hear.

“Well, um, he’s handsome, and smart, and he’s only mean to people who deserve it. Oh, uh, and he smells like cinnamon and new books.” she replied, a smile making its way onto her face, “Why?”

“Oh, um, just wondering, is all.”

“What else could I like about him?”

“I’m not sure.” I replied, as I gazed out the window to see the rain pouring onto the courtyard, “How his eyes seem to bore into you soul. How, um, his face reacts to what’s happening in the book as he’s reading. How, uh, his voice sounds like how melting hazelnut spread tastes. He is passionate about subjects and prone to arguing about them. How you could just, um, live in an ocean of his thoughts and feel like he knows you, like he really knows you-” I trailed off as Wendla turned to stare at me.

“I’m so stupid.” she said, looking down at her hands.

“No, um, sorry, I just meant-”

“No, I’m so stupid. I’m so, um, I’m so dumb. Like, an actual idiot” she said, standing up, brushing away my arms gently as I reached towards her.

“Sorry, don’t, um, don’t think that I-”

“No, what you just said. About his voice and when he’s reading and stuff, that’s what you say when you love someone.”

“No I don’t, I, um, I was just talking. I, uh, I would never-”

“No, no. It is Moritz, it is. And you don’t even care! Like, I love him and I can’t even, I can’t - ugh!” she said, tears welling up in her eyes as she slumped into a chair.

I walked to her and sat next to her. “Wendla, listen to me. You try harder than, um, anyone I’ve ever met to, um, show a boy that you love him.” I began, carefully reaching out to squeeze Wendla’s hand, “And, uh, if love is not the effort you put in, then, um, what is it?”

She looked up at me and gave me a hug.

“Cave?” I asked.

“Cave.”

  
  


That Wednesday evening we watched the perks of being a wallflower at my house.

“Ugh.” I said, as Charlie and Sam kissed while packing up her room after the whole crush speech.

“Ugh? I think it’s lovely.” Wendla said, ever the romantic.

“It’s so trite.”

“He’s finally coming out of his shell! He’s acting on his feelings! He’s participating!”

“Yeah but what if they weren’t reciprocated? How would you feel then? He’s being an idiot and you know it.”

“But she does reciprocate. See, Sam’s trying to take it a little further.” she retorted, pointing at the screen as Sam brushed Charlie’s inner thigh.

“Then I guess she’s an idiot too.”

  
  


b_pavlikovsky   
no secrets   
just a good girl   
. . . and you should be with a good   
girl

  
  


I’m trying to write a song. It’s cliché, I know, that the melancholy, sleep deprived kid with the messy hair plays guitar and writes songs, it’s just a good way to vent, alright. At the moment I’m trying to expand my range, though, as I’m trying to write a more upbeat song. It’s surprisingly difficult.

_ Awful sweet to be a little butterfly, _

_ Just winging over things, _

_ And nothing deep inside, _

_ Nothing going, going wild in you, _

_ You know, _

_ Just slowing by the riverside, _

_ Or floating high and blue. _

See? I try to write something happier, and it’s still a little sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are some things about this chapter i want to say so imma say them and you're gonna deal with it.  
> 1\. the mock results day thing is a thing that my school dead ass did and it did piss everyone off as much as it does hanschen.  
> 2\. wendla does hockey since hockey is the only real sport i can stand.  
> 3\. mrs gabor's relationship with moritz is vaguely reminiscent of my old english teacher, i miss him.  
> 4\. that ping pong thing with the trampolines is something i myself have done.  
> 5\. jamie lee curtis does too look like prue leith, i will fight you.  
> 6\. i watched knives out and the cinemasins video of it to write that scene, so contains real insight from the video and my own thoughts while watching. like the wanting donuts and molotov cocktail.  
> 7\. the sex thing was for shits and giggles. spot the john mulaney reference.  
> 8\. i do not understand emojis either, why do people use them?  
> 9\. spag bol is a thing us brits do say, it's not a weird character quirk it's contextualising.  
> 10\. i came up with the melting hazelnut spread thing since that's actually a thing i've thought while listening to jonathan groff.  
> 11\. sorry this chapter and then these notes were long. i just wanted to have the prep in one place and share some comments.


	8. Kiss Me And You Will See How Important I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that date with melchior that wendla was revising for in the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's much shorter than the last one, but so are the other chapters.

We met outside the fish and chip shop again before the second date commenced that Friday. I was delayed by a couple of minutes.

“Sorry, Wendla. I, um, got distracted practising for the, um, talent show. I’m, um, I’m a little nervous but whatever.” I said as I arrived at the benches.

“It’s fine.” she replied, pacing only slightly.

“Right, um, Melchior stuff. If he brings up Brexit make sure you reference the border between-”

“I know, I know.”

“When in doubt, if , uh, they have initials they’re probably an author and if, um, they don’t they’re probably poets.”

“Hey, Moritz, stop.” she said, grabbing hold of my vibrating shoulders, “Thank you.”

“Oh, um, no problem.” I replied, suddenly perfectly still.

“Look, I’ll level with you here, Mo. I’m probably going to crash and burn out there, despite your teachings. But thank you, for, um, sticking it out with me anyway.” she said, making direct eye contact with me. She let go.

“Well, you did pay me.” I joked, “And you’re probably now one of my best friends.”

“Thank you, Mo.” she turned to cross the street.

“Hey.” I said, quickly grabbing her hand and pulling her into a rather awkward hug, “You’re not going to crash and burn.”

She smiled at me as she pulled away and crossed the street. She was totally going to crash and burn.

  
  


“Wendla, I was wondering-” Melchior started after a minute of silence. Wendla accidentally cut him off.

“What about Brexit, eh?” Wendla said, quickly, “Sorry, Melchi, you go first.”

“No, you.”

“Oh, um, Brexit.” she said. I physically facepalmed from my bench a little away from them.

“Yes?”

“Uh, right?”

“Right?” Melchior replied, hesitantly.

“Yeah.”

Come on, Wendla. Get it together.

“We don’t have to talk about serious things.” Melchior said, sipping the drink he brought with him.

“Oh, okay. What were you about to say?” Wendla asked, visibly relieved.

“Oh, um, it’s still cool that we’re friends, right?” Melchior asked.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Totally cool. Friends. Yay.”

They sat in silence for a minute. I don’t know what came over me as I sent that message.

b_pavlikovsky   
i get nervous when you’re close

Melchior’s phone went off, “You messaged me?” he asked Wendla.

“Um, yeah.”

Gretchens_Baby   
Why?

Then Wendla texted me on Instagram

FaerieQueen   
WTF???

little_butterfly   
look at your damn phone!

I resumed messaging Melchior.

b_pavlikovsky   
. . .

Gretchens_Baby   
. . . ?

b_pavlikovsky   
. . . . .

Gretchens_Baby   
I’m just a guy.

He’s not “just a guy”.

b_pavlikovsky   
you’re not just a guy

Wendla texted me again.

FaerieQueen   
WHAT. ARE. YOU. SAYING???

little_butterfly   
STOP LOOKING AT ME

I used capital letters. She knew it was serious.

Gretchens_Baby   
I’m not?   
Then, what are you?

b_pavlikovsky   
also. . .    
not just a guy

He laughed.

Gretchens_Baby   
Lmao   
You’re strange   
But cute.

b_pavlikovsky   
you have broad shoulders

Gretchens_Baby   
. . . Thanks?

Shit. I didn’t know what to say next. So many thoughts about him. So much I could say. I started to type, but then I was interrupted.

“I don’t want to be just friends!” Wendla shouted, standing up.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“I, uh, I think you’re handsome, and funny, and smart and, um, your voice is, um, like an ocean of thoughts. Like, um, arguing oceans of thoughts. Like, uh, passion, um, arguing - ugh! I like you, Melchior!” Wendla explained, tripping over her words inarticulately.

Shit.

“Uh, Wendla, I, um, I don’t know what to say.” Melchior replied, still sitting.

“Me neither.” Wendla said, sitting down, “I’m not, um, I’m not a good talker.”

“That’s okay.”

I figured they’d be okay and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed that lol. twas fun to write, tho i didn't have to watch any films for this one lmao


	9. The Poets Are Just Kids Who Didn't Make It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's the talent show! you remember that one? mentioned several chapters ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello. i hope people shop like this. also, potential trigger warning for a spiral vaguely reminiscent of those panic attacks and suchlike.

That Saturday me and Wendla went shopping in Greenfield for our outfits for the talent show. The talent show was the Friday after, to close off the term.

“What’s up, haters! Guess who rocked her second date? Why it’s number 91, Wendla Bergmann!” Wendla said as we browsed, “And now she and her sidekick are gonna rock the Year 11 recital!”

“It’s a lame talent show where you sing a song and I play some piano.” I replied, also sifting through the clothing rails.

“You’re going to be so awesome.”

“Um, no. I’m going to be physically sick.  _ You’re  _ going to be awesome.”

“Shut up, you’ll be fine. I’ve heard you play for an audience tons of times.”

“Yeah within the class. Not by myself. Believe it or not, Wendy, not everyone can prance through life smiling and confident like you do.”

“You’ll crush it.”

“Sure, whatever.” I resigned myself to saying.

“Oh, wait, did I tell you about the hockey thing? The coach thought I played well so they’re going to move me into the third team from the fourth!”

“Is that good?”

“Yes!”

“Well congratulations, Wendla!” I said, now understanding. I do not get sports.

We continued browsing a few more shops, mostly sale rails as neither of us are exactly swimming in money Scrooge McDuck style.

“So, um, what did you and Melchior talk about?” I asked.

“Um, not too sure. You know, we got some fish and chips. We held hands. It was quiet and nice.” she said, still sifting through rails, “But then I had to go home and he walked me to my house, like a gentleman. And then he kissed me on my doorstep.”

I stood in shocked silence for a moment.

“How? How does that happen?” I asked.

“Huh?”

“The kiss?”

“Grow up, Moritz, you've seen movies.”

“How, um, how did you know he wanted, um, to be kissed?” I asked, genuinely curious. To say I was trying to coach Wendla I really do not understand how dating works.

“Oh, there’s, like, the signal.” she explained, not even glancing up.

“The signal?” I pulled a shirt over my head.

“Yeah, the signal. I can’t really tell you about it, you’ll just, um, you’ll know it when you see it.”

“Okay, weird.” I replied, putting on a jacket over the shirt.

“And now we have a real date! Not a friend date, Moritz, a real one! At the cinema! When he gets back from his grandmothers after Christmas!” she exclaimed, her smile becoming more and more gleeful. Then she looked at me, “You know there are changing rooms, right?”

I did look quite stupid, random articles of clothing thrown over the ones I already owned, “I’ll just get these, we’ve been looking for ages.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I raised an eyebrow. I am rather dense at fashion.

“No, it’s just, well, how do I put it? Without the jeans and the long shirt, you just look weird.” she said, carefully inspecting my attire.

“Thanks.”

“It’s just, it’s too casual? Like, you always dress like that, you should look sharp.”

“Sharp is expensive as fuck.”

“Not here, it's not, I’ll pay what you can’t.”

“I suppose you’re right, but I couldn’t possibly let you pay, Wendy.”

“Okay, but, just go to the dressing room, I’ll pass you some things.” she said, pushing me gently towards the dressing rooms in the charity shop.

“What? No, you’re a girl.”

“So?”

“And you’re my friend. I’m entirely uncomfortable with this concept.”

“Look, I have fashion sense, you do not. I promise I won’t look.” she said, already picking some things out for me.

She ended up settling on a surprising cheap black suit, complete with a black tie.

“Damn, Mo, I would not have pegged you as a guy who could pull off the Barney Stinson look.” Wendla said, walking around me while I was suited up.

“Thanks. But what about you?”

“Oh, I picked my dress _weeks_ ago. I only came along since I knew you were hopeless.” she said, laughing a little.

“Hey! I’m not hopeless!” I replied, feigning defensiveness.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, Steifel, whatever you have to tell yourself.”

  
  


The talent show was certainly interesting, to say the least and completely exaggerate. Some Year 7s danced. The “Trumpet Gang” (just because they’re classmates doesn’t mean I know their names) played some very offkey trumpet, clearly bricking it. It was easy for Wendla, she’s a singer, as she just got to stand on stage with a microphone and a pretty dress on to sing a song. I must say, though, she picked When by dodie and I fully believe her rendition was even better than the original. She truly has an exquisite voice.

The most over the top performance was by Bobby Maler, King of Tibshelf himself. Seriously, there were lights, smoke machines and pyrotechnics. He somehow managed to distribute glow sticks to the audience members.

“What’s up, Tibshelf!” Bobby shouted as he galavanted across the stage after Ernst, who was somehow the host of this, introduced him and his band.

The crowd cheered like he was some sort of actual rock star, and not some popular cover band who would do a sub par version of a wildly popular song.

“Yeah! Let’s do this!” he shouted as he and his band launched into their rendition of Mr. Brightside.

Obviously, Bobby did vocals, but his band was composed of people I honestly did not expect to see. Hanschen was on the synthesisers, I did not know he played the synthesisers or was friends with Bobby. Marianna Wheelan played guitar, she was actually good, though obviously did not hold a candle to Keuning himself. Otto was on the drums, again, a surprise. And Melchior played bass. I had no idea he was a bassist, he hadn’t even told Wendla on Discord. And he was pretty good too, but still a better vocalist.

Georg played a solo of Chopin’s Nocturne in C-sharp minor. It was incredible, which was bad since I had to follow him. I understand the logic of having the piano acts be consecutive, but seriously how the fuck could I follow Georg? He was a real pianist! His heart and soul was in piano. But alas, my turn came.

“Ladies and gentleman, please give it up for my good friend Moritz Steifel!” Ernst said as I walked onstage and sat at the piano. 

I was facing the piano, and hadn’t seen the crowd, who gave a pitiful applause of maybe 20 hands. My heart had transformed into a fish in my chest, flopping about uselessly but frantically. I stared down at the piano keys, slowly moving my hands to rest on them. My breathing was quick, and my head was whirring as I saw a few people out the corner of my eye. Against my better judgement, I turned to look at the crowd. It was huge. There were so many people. Too many people. I couldn’t do this. Who the fuck did I think I was? I couldn’t play for that many people. They would all hate me. They’d hate me so much they’d throw tomatoes and baguettes and plastic cups at me when I was finished. I’d be ostracised from society. I’d have to change my name, get plastic surgery and flee the country as my terrible performance made national news. I was going to cry. I was going to throw up. I was going to pass out. I was going to ruin the lovely suit Wendla picked out for me. I just kept staring at my hands on the piano keys numbly, my eyes widening as I spiralled further and further into panic. I’d forgotten what I was going to play. How to play, even, I didn’t know what I was doing. I was wasting everyone’s time. They were all looking at me expectantly, and it was too late to just flake out. This was it. This was it and I was blowing it. I should’ve just run off and forgotten about it-

Wendla tapped me on the shoulder, snapping me out of my panic-trance. I looked into her kind, brown eyes. She thrust a blue electric guitar in my direction. My guitar, from home, plugged into an amp. 

“Ask me about it later.” she whispered as I looked at her a little confused, “Play your song.”

I took the guitar from her, hesitantly, and positioned it ready to play, my acrobatic heart beating in my ears. Wendla winked at me and ran into the wings. I turned to the fretboard and took a deep breath. I began to play, with a few adjustments, for the kids.

_God, I dreamed there was an Angel,_

_Who could hear me through the wall,_

_As I cried, like, in Latin,_

_This is so not life at all,_

_Help me out, out of this nightmare,_

_Then I heard her silver call,_

_She said: "Just give it time, kid,_

_I come to one and all,"_

_She said: "Give me those bad dreams,_

_And the itch you can't control,_

_Let me teach you how to handle_

_All the sadness in your soul,_

_Oh we'll build some silver castles,_

_Shut the door and climb the walls,"_

_She said: "Love may make you blind, kid,_

_But I wouldn't mind at all."_

I looked up into the crowd. They clapped some, not as much as for Bobby but it was still nice. Wendla was in the wings, and she hugged me as I ran to her.

“Moritz Steifel I am so proud of you!” she said, pulling me into a bear hug.

“Thank you so much, Wendla.” I replied, half returning the hug. I’m not really a hugger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked that. initially i was going to ave him sing don't do sadness, but bitch of living has more guitar and fits. i apologise for the guitar ex machina, i couldn't think of how else i could do this.


	10. I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's an after-party for that talent show in the last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've never been to a party so i apologise if this is an inaccurate narration of what a party is like. what i imagine their like is one of many reasons i don't go to them

After the talent show, Bobby Maler and his band won, me and Wendla walked out into the night air of the school car park.

“That was amazing.” Wendla said.

“It was okay. It appears some people in this shitty town have some actual talent.” I replied.

“Leave it to you to nitpick others. Need I remind you that I saved your arse?”

“Careful with that language, Bergmann, you’ll get in trouble.”

“Shut up, Steifel, you’re practically married to the F word.” she replied, lightly punching me on the shoulder.

“Fine. Seriously, though, I cannot thank you enough, you really saved me from actually passing out.”

“No need, Moritz. You’re my friend and I’m happy to help.”

“Well, thank you anyway. But, like, the guitar? When? Um, how did you get it?”

“Don’t get mad, okay?” she said, suddenly very serious.

“Don’t, um, don’t give me a reason to get mad, okay?” I replied, now mildly worried. What had she done?

“Well, I’ve heard you play that song, the one you wrote, a couple of times at night.” she began to explain.

“When? How? I’m sorry, I had to change it for-”

“Your window is wide open and it’s late at night, there is no noise and I live across the bloody street. Anyway, I thought you might be really nervous, so I thought I’d get it for you just in case you tried to flake.”

“Oh, um, that’s real sweet of you, Wendla, but how did you get into my house?” I asked. She hadn’t stolen my keys, had she?

“That’s easy. I stole your keys.”

“You fucking what?”

“I stole your keys. But your door is really hard to unlock, and with all the keyrings, they jingled around so much that I managed to alert your dad. He opened the door and I asked if I could take your guitar for you, as you needed it for the talent show. He obliged, barely said anything at all.” she replied. That was weird. Couldn’t believe she’d spoken to my father.

I was about to reply when Ilse hugged me from behind, and I screamed a little.

“Jesus Christ, Ritz, it’s just me!” Ilse said, letting go of me.

“Ilse! You frightened me!” I replied.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Fuck you, Watson.”

“Ilse! Did you enjoy the show?” Wendla asked, beaming.

“Most of it was a little boring, but I must say, yours, Georg’s and Moritz’s sets were good.” Ilse replied, putting her arms across our shoulders into a one armed kind of hug on each side of her.

“Thanks. Who do you think should’ve won?”

“You, actually. Georg’s was impressive, admittedly, and Ritz’s song was killer, but your rendition of When was just so good.”

“Oh. Thank you, Ilse.” Wendla replied, turning away as her cheeks turned crimson.

“Well, anyway, I’ve been invited to an after-party by some people, and I’ve been instructed to invite you two along.” 

“No. Can’t. You know I don’t do parties.” I replied, untangling myself from Ilse.

“Come on, Mo, it’ll be fun.” Wendla chimed in.

“No.”

“Ritz, please, I promised Ernst you’d be there.” Ilse said, letting go of Wendla.

“Ernst? It’s Ernst’s party? He, uh, he lives in Holmewood!” 

“No, Ernst invited me, it’s Bobby Maler’s party.”

“Well in that case, hard pass.”

“Please, Ritz, please? You’ve never even been to a party, how do you know you won’t enjoy it?”

“I have too been to a party.”

“Oh, really, Ritz. When?”

“Year 4.”

“Doesn’t count. You’re coming.”

“No, Ilse, I’m not. Let it go.”

“Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top?”

“No.”

“Come on, Ritz! There’s free alcohol.”

  
  


I’m not exactly sure how they managed to get me to the party, and some of the night is a little fuzzy, but I know I was there.

“Eyyy! Steifel, Bergmann and Neumann! Welcome to the Maler house! Have a drink, have a drink, have a drink!” Bobby Maler said after Ilse knocked on his door, and he welcomed us in.

It was very loud. A lot of people were there, every Year 11 from the talent show was there, as were a few other students, presumably friends or partners. We saw Ernst and Hanschen, both already drinking, and staring at each other intently, deep in conversation, and young love. Martha and Anna were also very interested in each other in some corner near the stairs. Georg and Otto were already making out, a pleasant surprise.

I got us drinks from the kitchen, 2 rum and cokes for me and Ilse and a normal coke for Wendla. We sat on and around the dining room table, the most quiet room. We talked.

“Wendy?” Ilse asked.

“Yes, Ilse?” Wendla replied.

“How did you reconnect with Moritz?”

“Well, don’t tell anyone, but he helped me talk to Melchior.”

“What? Moritz Steifel, most awkward guy on the fucking planet, has been helping you talk to someone?” Ilse asked, suddenly sitting bolt right up from slouching on her chair.

“Hey!” I replied, defensively.

“Yeah. He’s good at writing, and knows about books and stuff. It’s been fun, I’m kind of sad we don’t have to do it anymore.”

“Well, you’re still welcome in The Cave.” Ilse said, a little crestfallen as she took a big swig of her rum and coke.

“Thanks. Besides, Neumann, I like The Cave. You couldn’t get rid of me now if you tried.”

I went for another drink after finishing my second rum and coke. As I left the kitchen for the second time, someone stopped me.

“Moritz! I loved your song, man. You’re a good writer.” some faceless classmate said.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, dude, you could totally make a career out of it.” said another.

“Oh, thank you so much.”

“Here, have another drink, it’s vodka and orange juice.”

“Thank you, thank you, but I’m fine.” I took it anyway, and downed it. I screwed my face, the vodka cutting through the orange juice like a knife.

“Dude, really, you should hang out with us some time. You could play us some of your songs.”

“Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Come play a drinking game with us!”

“No I don’t-” I began as someone strong pulled me through the crowd and into a quieter area at the foot of the stairs. 

They tugged me upstairs, gently but firmly. We stopped in the quiet hallway. I got a good look at my saviour. They were Melchior Gabor.

“You okay, Moritz?” he asked, letting go of my wrist and placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Melchior?” I asked, a little tipsy, still holding a half empty cup of rum and coke.

“Yeah, Moritz, it’s me. Are you okay?” he asked again, smiling tenderly at me.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I think so. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good, good. Um, why did you pull me up here?” I asked, taking a sip of my rum and coke.

“Oh, well, I know you don’t like crowds and shit, so I thought I’d make sure you were good. Is that okay?”

“Yes, yes, of course. How’d you know that?”

“I remember, from when we were kids. You always hated going on trips so I’d always partner up with you to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh, yeah. That was nice.” I replied, sipping my rum and coke some more, “I didn’t, um, I didn’t know you played bass.”

“Oh, um, I don’t, not really. I only know Mr. Brightside because Bobby said I had to.” he replied, sitting down on the floor, sliding down the wall opposite to me. I mirrored him.

“Oh, well, I thought you were quite good.”

“Thanks. You’re the first person to actually say anything.” he replied, taking a sip of his own drink, “I didn’t know you wrote songs.”

“Well, I dabble. Um, Wendla told me you write poetry.”

“Yeah. You know, a lot of people think poetry and songs are so similar, but I’d argue that songs are harder to write.”

“What? No, poetry‘s harder to write. There’s all that, fucking, rhyming and meter and poetic form to worry about ‘n shit. With songs you just have to think “does this read okay”, add a chord progression and you’re done.”

“Yeah, Mo, but you have to come up with the chords.”

“True, Melchi, true.”

He smiled and looked down at his lap.

“What are you smiling at?”

“You called me Melchi.”

“Oh? Sorry, I overstepped, I’ll leave, Melchior-” I replied, adjusting myself to get up.

“No, no, I like it. Better than milky-whore, like Hanschen once called me.”

“That Hansi.”

“You call him Hansi?”

“Yeah. Me and my friends in The Cave call him that sometimes to annoy him.” I replied, finishing off my drink.

“I’m stealing that. What’s The Cave?” he asked.

“The Cave is the bit in between Global and Science. We hang out there.”

“Oh, who’s we?”

“Um, Ilse, Wendla, Georg, and usually Ernst and Hansi though they sometimes hang out with Hanschen’s friends.”

“Sounds cool. May I join you guys some time?” he asked, placing his presumably empty cup beside him.

“Of course, Melchi, of course. We’d love to have you some time.” I replied.

“Sweet. Well, I’ve finished my drink, want me to go get you one?” he asked, standing up.

“Oh, um, yes please.”

“Alright.”

He left, taking both our cups with him, and returned after a few minutes. He’d gotten me a rum and Dr Pepper.

“Is that okay?” he asked after I took a sip.

“This is better than okay. Thank you so much, Melchi.” I replied, taking a long sip of my drink. I love Dr Pepper so much.

“No problem, Mo, no problem. I know you used to love Dr Pepper.” he replied, sitting back down across from me.

“Yeah. It tastes like a sexy battery.”

He laughed at that, “A sexy battery?”

“Yeah. You didn’t hear? James Acaster said it, I thought it was true so I adopted the phrase.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of him. That’s funny.”

“Yeah, his comedy’s pretty good.” I replied, taking an idle sip, “You heard of Bo Burnham?”

We continued our conversion about various comedians - we went from Bo Burnham to John Mulaney to Mae Martin - until we ran out of drinks. I offered to get some more and began to walk down the stairs, slowly as to not trip. As I waded through the crowd, I was passed a couple of shots, which I took, before I got to the kitchen. I made myself a rum and Dr Pepper, eyeballing the shot of rum, and got Melchior a banana daiquiri.

As I re-entered the crowd, I was jostled this way and that. People kept talking at me, but their words began to blur together in my half-drunk state. I ended up sipping a drink, accidentally drinking Melchior’s daiquiri, so I went back to the kitchen and made another. 

I managed to get back up the stairs and gave Melchior his drink, mine already half gone, without throwing up. I quickly finished my own drink as we continued talking about various comedians.

“Moritz? You good man?” Melchior asked, but he seemed kind of far away. Everything was getting a little fuzzy.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine, M-melchi I’m fine.” I replied, slurring my words together a bit.

“I think you’ve had enough. Do you need some water?”

“N-no, I’m fine.”

“Nah, I’ll get you some, then I’ll get you home, where do you live?” he said, disappearing with my empty cup into the nearby bathroom.

“I live at the, um, the train station. But s-seriously Melchi, I, um, I’m fine.” I said.

“Here. Drink.” he said, holding out a cup full of cold tap water.

“Th-thanks.” I replied, taking the cup and sipping it. It was so refreshing, the most refreshing cup of water I’d ever drank, “Cactus juice ain’t shit compared to this. “ I laughed, mostly to myself.

“It’s the quenchiest.” Melchior replied, smiling at me, “You good?”

“Yeah.” I said, a little too drawn out.

“Right, let's get you home.” Melchior said, putting his arm firmly around my waist and pulling me up as I swung my arm across his shoulders. 

I threw up immediately, but Melchior paid it no mind and simply guided me downstairs and sat me outside on the bench on Bobby’s porch.

“Who did you come here with?” he asked, slowly.

“Ilse and Wendla. They’re, um, they’re in the dining room.” I replied, also slowly.

“Okay. Stay here, I’ll tell them I’ve got you and I’m taking you home. If you need to throw up, um, use that pot plant on your left.” he replied and took off back into the party.

He returned after what felt like 30 seconds and walked me home. I don’t remember much about the journey other than his arm around my waist and my arm over his shoulders as he led me away from the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the guitar thing is a little contrived, as is this chapter, but i hope you liked it nonetheless.


	11. Carpe Diem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the morning after the party and our good friend mo has a very nice day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this bit's not in the movie, but the writing flow took me here and I didn't want to stop it.

“Moritz. Moritz! Wake up!” someone was whispering at me and shaking me.

My eyes fluttered open as I felt the light peeking in through some blinds and dancing on the lids. I knitted my eyebrows together. My room didn’t have blinds. And my sheets weren’t green either. That lamp wasn’t mine. Shit. This was not my bed. I sat bolt right up, then immediately regretted it. Headrush and a pounding headache reared its ugly head. 

“Moritz? You okay?” the voice asked.

I looked to my left, at the voice's owner. Melchior. Melchior? What was I doing in his bed?

“Y-yeah. Headache.” I managed to croak out.

“Here’s some water.” he replied, handing me a cool, tall glass of clear water. I downed it, almost as refreshing as last night. Dear God, last night.

“Thank you. Um, how did, uh, how did I get here?” I asked him, setting the now empty glass on his nightstand.

“I brought you here after we left the party. My house is closer than yours.” he replied.

“Right, right.” I replied, before a dangerous question popped into my head, “Dear God, did we, you know-”

“No, no we didn’t.”

“Thank God. And my virginity remains intact.” I joked, mostly to myself.

“Yeah, you were far too drunk to consent properly anyway. Be careful, though, you’re cute when you’re drunk.” he replied.

“I’m, um, I’m what?” What the fuck did he just say to me?

“You’re cute when you’re drunk. Like, your face is all flushed and you don’t laugh, you giggle instead.” he replied, a little too matter-of-fact for my liking. Spot on for Wendla’s, though.

“Oh, weird. Anyway, thanks for looking after me and stuff.”

“No problem, no problem at all. I actually enjoyed our little conversations about Bo Burnham and John Mulaney, I don’t think I’ve actually talked to anyone in real life about those two.”

“You’ll like The Cave, then. Ilse introduced us to them.” I replied, smiling weakly.

“Ah yes, the elusive Cave.” Melchior replied then stood up, “Right, my mum’s just making some pancakes for breakfast. Fancy any?”

“I’m good.”

“Alright, but you’re missing out. Tea or coffee?”

“Would a nice cuppa be alright?”

“Of course, Mo, you’re our guest. Milk, 2 sugars, right?”

“Yes, you remembered.”

“How could I forget? Get dressed, come out when you’re ready.” he replied, and with that left the room.

I couldn’t help but notice he was already dressed and I was not. That was weird, I didn’t remember getting undressed. Hope Melchior didn’t see me. I got into my clothes, folded in a neat pile on the floor next to me, and checked my phone. Ilse and Wendla had both texted and called a few times.

Captain Ilse   
Ritz? Are you okay?  
Melchior told me and Wendla  
that he was taking you home.  
Text me when you’re up.

The Ritz   
hi, ilse  
i’m fine, just had a little too  
much to drink.

  
  


Faerie_Queen   
Mo? You alright love?  
💖💕💞💙❤️

little_butterfly   
yeah, wendy, i’m fine

I put my phone in my pocket and left Melchior’s room, into the hallway I remembered so well from my childhood. It still had that same carpet; the same smell of new books and fabric softener, I couldn’t help but smile. The stairs were exactly where I’d left them the last time I’d slept over when we were 11, the dark wood and grain pattern just so familiar to me, almost waving at me like an old friend. I suppose that bannister was an old friend. 

When I entered the kitchen, Mrs. Gabor was at the hob, making some pancakes exactly like I remembered her doing after our sleepovers. The silent shape of Mr. Gabor, he very rarely spoke, was sitting with the paper in their living room. Melchior himself was sat at the kitchen island, 2 mugs in front of him. I knew one mug would be full of his tea - black, 1 sugar - and another full of mine. 

“Hi.” I said as I practically tip-toed into the room. I just kind of stood at the kitchen island for a minute, not daring to really be comfortable.

“Moritz! Good morning, fancy a pancake?” Mrs. Gabor asked, beaming a little uncharacteristically. God, I hadn’t seen her smile like that for years.

“Good morning, Mrs. Gabor. No thank you, some tea will be fine.” I replied, hesitantly sitting on a stool.

“Please, dear, enough of that Mrs. Gabor, we’re not at school. You may call me Fanny.”

“Oh, sorry, Fanny.” I replied, very nervous. This may be awkward on Monday.

“Here’s your tea.” said Melchior, pushing one of the mugs towards me.

“Thank you, Melchi.” I replied, taking a sip. Perfect brew, couldn’t have made it better myself.

Melchior smiled into his own mug as he took a sip.

“What are you smiling like that for?” I asked him, my cheeks acquiring a tint of red.

“You called me Melchi again. I like it, you should do it more.” he replied, still smiling.

“Still drinking black tea?”

“Graduated to black coffee, but with 2 sugars.” Oh, guess not everything was the same.

“Psychopath.” I joked, earning myself a chuckle both from Mrs. Gabor and Melchior, “That sounds so bitter.”

“I like bitter. It’s like my soul.” he joked along.

We laughed for a few seconds, before subsiding into a comfortable near-silence, just the sound of Mrs. Gabor making pancakes in the background, giving the whole affair a sort of homely ambience.

  
  


Mrs. Gabor ended up making 12 pancakes, splitting them evenly among herself, her husband, and Melchior. She sat with us to enjoy her pancakes.

“So, you boys have anything planned for today?” she asked, taking a sip of her own tea. Or coffee, maybe she graduated to coffee while I was gone too.

“Yeah, I’m taking Moritz to the tree.” Melchior replied.

“We are?!” I replied, like a reflex, before deciding to play it cool, “Um, I mean, we are.”

Mrs. Gabor hummed to herself, “Be honoured, Moritz, even I haven’t seen the tree and I’m his best friend for life.”

“Shut up, mum, you’re old.” Melchior interjected.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Melchior Gabor.” she replied, finishing off her pancakes and beginning to wash her plate in the sink, “Remember, Melchior, you have to be back before five because-”

“Because we’re going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Got it, mother.” Melchior finished, like he’d had this exact lecture a million times, “Moritz, you finished your tea?”

I nodded and went to wash my mug, before Mrs. Gabor took it from me and began washing it herself. I squeaked out a thank you.

“Excellent. I’ll see you guys later, okay. Bye dad! Come on Moritz.” Melchior said as he tried to hurry me out the door as I was putting my shoes and coat on.

“Moritz!” Mrs Gabor said, just as Melchior was about to open the door, “Come back any time, we love having you here!”

  
  


“Moritz Steifel, I present to you, The Tree!” Melchior said as he led me through the forest to a large tree.

It was a pretty nice tree. The boughs hung low and thick, so they were easy to sit on and climb too. Pretty leaves scattered the floor below, though the tree itself had already shed them, as a sort of cushion should you fall off like I probably would.

“Come on up!” Melchior called to me, holding out his hand to me, as he has already climbed to a low, sturdy branch.

“Can’t. I’ll fall.” I replied, already having resigned myself to sit against the trunk and shout-talk with Melchior until half past four.

“You won’t. I’ll help you.”

“Nah. Um, I’ll probably fall and hurt myself and then you’ll be mad at me for ruining your afternoon.”

“No, you won’t fall, Mo. I promise. I’ll catch you.” he said, keeping his hand out, looking right into my eyes, “Do you trust me?”

Damn, he really Aladdin’ed me.

“Whatever, Aladdin.” I said, as I grabbed his hand, his grip tightening to be comfortable, but firm.

He helped me up the tree until I sat on the bough next to him. Then, he beckoned me to follow him as he continued to climb, up through the thinning branches until we were on the highest bough that could support our weights. It was a nice view; of the ground below and the landscape stretching out, all cut up by the little twigs of the tree like a poorly manufactured jigsaw puzzle. 

“Wow,” I said, gripping to the bough tightly after letting go of Melchior’s hand.

“I know. The view’s even better in the other seasons, before all the leaves die and fall off. All those colours.” he replied, placing his left hand just a little behind my back, as if to say ‘I’ve got you.’

“Cool.”

We just kind of sat there for a bit before talking. Melchior piped up first, asking me about The Catcher in the Rye, which we ended up talking intently about. He even laughed when I told him that the only reason I read it was because it was mentioned in Bojack Horseman. Eventually, this spanned to other books. Then music. Turns out, Melchior mostly listens to older music. But not like vintage Beatles or Rolling Stones, like shit from the 70s and 80s with some 90s. A lot of Madonna, David Bowie, and Fleetwood Mac. He blames his mother, and I agree but Mrs. Gabor’s music’s not that bad. Strangely, though, he was surprised that I like punk and rock.

“Really? Punk and rock?” he asked, incredulously, after he asked me what kind of stuff I listened to.

“Yeah. What’s so weird about that?”

“It’s, like, angry music. For angry people.”

“That’s not entirely true.” I explained, “I like to call it loud music for sad people and anarchists.”

“Nice. Are you an anarchist?”

“Not really. I can’t stand capitalism, though. I’m more of a socialist.” I replied.

“Sweet. I love anarchy, but long term I would probably support communism. Have you read the Communist Manifesto?” he asked, suddenly very excited.

“No. Have you?”

“Of course! It’s so good, Mo, you should definitely read it. It sets out a lot of very interesting points.” he said, “Don’t be too embarrassed about it though, my friends haven’t read it either and definitely don’t want to hear my thoughts on the matter.”

“Oh. That’s kinda sad.”

“I suppose it is.”

“You should hang out with Ilse. You two would have a lot to talk about in terms of capitalism.”

“Yeah, Ilse. I miss her. Remember that time we were arguing over who’s more like Peter Pan?” he asked, wistful.

“Yeah. Damn, the friendship was nearly torn apart those two weeks. Our parents had to get involved.”

“Yeah, ha, can’t believe how silly we all used to be.” he replied, staring out through the branches.

“Yeah, so silly.”

“So silly.”

  
  


Half past four arrived way too soon. Melchior looked at this watch, his eyes widening suddenly.

“Shit. It’s half four. Got to go. Come on, Mo.” he said, immediately helping me down.

The walk back was cold and quiet. We talked a little, but not as much.

  
  


“Sorry we couldn’t stay out longer, Moritz.” Melchior said, as we arrived at his front door.

“It’s okay. The time we did have was nice.” I replied, smiling a little uncontrollably.

“Yeah, nice.” he said, standing still and just starring at me as he smiled, “Well, I’ll see you when I get back after Christmas!”

“Yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you then.” I replied.

We both stood there for another minute. Then, he unexpectedly reached out and hugged me, briefly. He had said ‘Bye’ and disappeared through his door before I could reciprocate.

  
  


I walked home alone, but warm inside. That had been a nice afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it! full disclosure, i really enjoyed writing this chapter. i just like seeing my boi moritz happy.


	12. Sometimes We Want What We Want Even If We Know It's Going To Kill Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's another party. shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've still never been to a party, so this is definitely not accurate.

“I can’t believe you managed to talk me into going to another party.” I said as me, Ilse and Wendla walked up the front steps of someone's house that New Years Eve.

“Why? You seemed to enjoy the last one.” Ilse replied, poking me in the ribs with her elbow. I had told her what happened the day after.

“No. I drank far too much. And this time Melchior won’t be there to save me when a crowd of drunken strangers start jostling me about and get me all panicky again.”

“Relax, Mo. Me and Ilse’ll look after you. We’re not letting you go on drink runs this time anyway.” Wendla said, trying to reassure me.

“Whose house is this anyway?”

“Marianna Wheelan’s.” replied Ilse as she knocked on the door.

“Oh, you guys came! Wonderful to have you at my house.” Marianna Wheelan said after she opened the door, though it looked like it was full to the brim, “You may drink if you want, but please don’t break anything. Have fun!”

And with that we entered the party. There were a lot of people there already, and it was only 8. A lot of the same people from the other party, like vodka and orange juice guy, and ‘you could make a career out of this’ girl. Hanschen and Ernst were once again absorbed in each other, as were Georg and Otto as well as Martha and Anna. Perhaps that’s just how couples were at parties.

Anyway, that whole looking after me thing didn’t last. We talked in the dining room, again, for a bit, drinking and talking about random things like in The Cave but with more alcohol. But, on the fateful third drink run, I felt safe enough to brave the journey to the kitchen myself, and I really shouldn’t have.

To start, it was fine. But I got about halfway between the kitchen and the dining room before someone bumped me into another horde of drunk teenagers. As I apologised, one of them said: “Moritz Steifel? You wrote that song, didn’t you?”

I had no choice but to say yes. I tried to leave, but they asked me if I wanted to play a drinking game, which I did not, but before I could decline they were already dragging me up the stairs to another group of fairly intoxicated teenagers playing a game I didn’t know, and still wouldn’t know as the details are very fuzzy. The extent of my knowledge about that drinking game is that everyone drank a lot when something happened, so everyone ended up very pissed very quickly, which was both funny and terrible for our livers.

After a while, I’m not sure when but I know it was late, Wendla found me.

“Thank you.” Wendla said as she deftly took the drink being handed to me.

“Oh, Wendy, hi!” I said, probably a little too loudly and slurred than could be considered okay, “I know, I know, I’ve been drinking. You know how I can tell?”

“How can you tell, Moritz?”

“I need to take a piss far more often than in-indicated by plain, uh, plain pop.” I replied, smiling for some reason, “So don’t think I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The other people in the group were laughing for some reason, though I’m still not sure why.

“Oh, is that so?” Wendla asked me, crouching down.

“Yeah.”

“How much have you had?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I lifted my finger as if to answer, but my brain was all scrambled. That seemed to be all the answer she needed.

“Come on, Mo, let’s get you home.” she said, taking me by the waist and beginning to pull me up.

I vomited again as I put my arm across her shoulders. Strangely, this felt a lot like when Melchior saved me.

“You know, Wendy, a similar thing happened when Melchior helped me.” I said, still slurring my words together.

“Okay, Moritz, okay.”

“You know, I really see why you like him so much.”

“That’s nice, Moritz.”

“Yeah. He’s actually really nice once you get past his inane need to be right about everything.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And he has a good taste in comedians. He’s probably the fifth person I’ve ever talked to about Bo Burnham.”

“Okay. You wait right here, I’m just going to tell Ilse what’s happening.” she said, sitting me on a bush outside Marianna’s house. I don’t remember when she came back, but I do remember that she did.

  
  


As my eyelids fluttered open while the morning light danced in through the blinds, I had the appalling sense of deja vu. I didn’t have blinds. And my sheets definitely weren’t floral. Those flowers weren’t mine. I sat bolt-right up, immediately regretting my decision as head-rush caved in and gave me a pounding headache. I’d had that headache before. 

I’d done it again, hadn’t I?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked that. i didn't enjoy doing that to him again, but i had to for plot.


	13. Ssh, Best Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay, this one is in the movie. we have another adventure for the bois at the tree from two chapters ago. it's like that bit in the hot spring (movie), but at the tree because i based the area on where i live and we don't have hot springs, so, yeah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quite honestly, this was one of my favourite parts to write. i just hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it.

New year. New house. Whose house was this? Surprisingly, not a new feeling, the sick disorientation of being nowhere familiar. Strange. I still had my clothes on, though. But no gentle friend there, waking me up with a glass of water. Except there was water, on the dresser next to the bed, accompanied by a note and some paracetamol.

_ Take these, for the headache. I’ll talk to you later. _

_ Wendla _

Holy shit this was Wendla’s house. I was in Wendla’s bed. We definitely wouldn’t have done  _ that _ , she had her eyes firmly on Melchior. I eased myself up to rest against her headboard and took the paracetamol, as instructed. The water was nice, cool but not shockingly cold. Faint voices were becoming clearer as hushed footsteps against carpet began walking towards the room. I jumped out of the bed, ignoring the headache, and hastily made the bed, frantically putting my phone in my pocket and looking about for anything else that was mine.

“Well she’s out at her book club right now, but you could leave it in here, in her room, if you like.” Mrs. Bergmann said as she approached the door with someone. Wendla clearly hadn’t told her about hockey yet, I was surprised that “book club” was the best lie she could come up with.

“Alright. It’s just something silly. I thought maybe she might like it.” the other person approaching said, their voice like how melting hazelnut spread tastes. Melchior. Shit.

I checked my phone. I had a Discord message from Melchior. Well, Wendla did.

Gretchens_Baby   
Got back from grandparents last night.   
You up?

I didn’t have time to reply as the door opened.

“I might have a cousin from out there. We might have visited Greenfield once or twice but never the surrounding area, always seemed a little sleepy.” Mrs. Bergmann was chattering, poor Melchior.

He simply chuckled in response.

“Well- Oh! Moritz? Where did you come from, I didn’t hear you.” she said to me, genuinely a little startled at my presence. They both stared at me before I answered.

“I, um, I was just, um, dropping off some books.” I managed to stammer out.

“Melchior here was just dropping off something for Wendla too.” she said, standing there for a second, awkwardly, “Well, I better get back up to the shop. Those flowers won’t arrange themselves, eh.”

She left the room, leaving me and Melchior alone.

“Hi.” he said, stiffly standing there.

“Hi.” I replied. Why was it so awkward?

“So, um, you and Wendla, you-”

“No. No, no, no, no. She is, um, like, 100% into you.” I interjected. Jesus Christ.

“Oh, you know, then? About me and Wendla?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’re, uh, pretty good friends and she, um, she wanted to do some extra reading. So, um, I lent her a few books.” I replied, only half lying.

“She’s doing extra reading?”

“Yes. For you.”

“That’s pretty sweet.”

“I guess so, Melchi, I guess so.”

“It’s funny, Mo, because on our first date, I just kept talking and talking about books. I swear, I almost drove her off, the first girl to show interest in me without wanting to get to Bobby since Year 7. I can be such a nervous idiot.” he said, smiling unconsciously.

“You could never be an idiot.” I replied a little too quickly, “I mean, um, Wendla would never, uh, think that about you, because, um, as I said she's, like, mega into you.”

We stood in silence for a minute.

“I should, um, get home, my dad’ll be worried about me.” I said, going to leave.

“Oh, um, yeah. Sure thing.”

“What’s that?” I asked, motioning to the piece of paper he had in his hands.

“Oh, it’s just some silly thing I wrote at my grandparents’.” he replied.

“Cool, can I, um, can I read it?” I asked, tentatively.

“Oh, um, sure thing. Here.” he replied, handing the paper to me.

_ Acrobat _

_ I like it when you look at me, _

_ Though it makes my heart an acrobat _

_ as it turns _

_ and it twists _

_ in my little chest, _

_ I have to catch my breath. _

_ When I look into your lovely eyes, _

_ Eye contact, I struggle to keep it, _

_ I’m afraid I’ll blush _

_ and give it away. _

_ I enjoy talking to you, _

_ Though I’m full aware you think I don’t, _

_ And I apologise, I really do, _

_ That I’ve made you feel that way, _

_ But if we’re dishing out the apologies, _

_ Then you owe me one, too. _

_ For making me so statically nervous, _

_ Because, as much as I’d like to, _

_ It’s very difficult to get myself to talk to you, _

_ With the acrobat in my chest _

_ and all of their eyes _

_ making a conspiracy board in their heads, _

_ Threatening to out this little secret of mine. _

_ I like you. _

_ I might as well say it, _

_ If you hadn’t pieced it together by now, you never would. _

You.

_ With your eyes, _

_ Your conversation, _

_ Your name, _

_ You stupid hair. _

_ I even like the acrobat _

_ your presence summons to my chest. _

“Not bad. I like the acrobatic imagery instead of the overused butterflies in stomach metaphor. Creative and vivid.” I said, reading it over and over. Damn, Wendla’s a lucky girl to have a poem like that written about her, “She’ll love it.”

I turned to exit the room, but Melchior grabbed me by the forearm.

“Hey, want to go to The Tree?” he asked, looking right into my eyes.

  
  


“Wow.” I said, breathily, as we got to the branch again.

“I know right. I reckon you could come up here a million times and the view would never cease to be beautiful.”

We sat in awe for a minute or two. Melchior pulled an old-ish radio from his backpack.

“Want to listen to some tunes? I know all the best stations.” Melchior asked, patting the radio as he set it down, carefully, next to him.

“Sure. Any punk rock?” I joked. He snickered.

“Probably not.”

“Oh. Any Bo Burnham?” I asked, hoping this would lead somewhere.

“Ha, I wish. I know they’re comedy songs but he does know how to write some tunes.” Melchior replied.

“How about The Sack Lunch Bunch?”

“The who?”

“Holy shit, you haven’t seen John Mulaney and the Sack Lunch Bunch yet?” I asked him, incredulous. Sure, it hadn’t been out for long, but how fun could his grandparents’ house have been?

“No? What is that?” he replied, intrigued.

“It’s technically a kids special that John did, but, Melchi, it’s so fucking funny.”

  
  


“God,” Melchior began, after a few minutes of listening to the radio, “I don’t think I’ve ever hung out with another guy and not talked about girls before.”

“Oh, sorry.” I replied. How do people talk about girls? What’s there to say?

“No, don’t be, Mo. It’s nice.”

We sat in silence for a bit.

“Um, Wendla’s pretty cool.'' Why, Steifel, why does your brain not work?

“Right, I’ll level with you. Mo, about Wendla.” he began, adjusting his posture to be more serious, “She’s kind of confusing. Like, when I’m with her, I feel all safe and warm. She’s a very sweet girl. But, she writes these things that feel, um, not safe.”

“Not safe?” I asked. How is my writing not safe?

“Well, I heard Bobby talking with Marianna about me and Thea going to prom together.”

“You and Thea?”

“Yeah, I don’t care for it either. But Bobby and Marianna want to coordinate the friend groups so all of her friends are paired up with his friends.” he explained.

“But, Hanschen? And Otto?”

“I know, Mo, I know.” he began, “But she hasn’t even spoken to me about it yet, but she’s so sure that I’ll just give in and do it. Maybe that’s just platonic love. I should go to prom with Thea.”

“Uh-oh.” I blurted out before I could stop myself. He turned his head to look at me.

“Should I?” he asked.

I remained silent.

“I’m not too sure either. Maybe that’s the meaning of life, doing things to please others.” he said, absently, looking up at the blue sky.

“I don’t believe in the meaning of life.” I replied, joining him in staring up at the sky through the branches.

“That must be so nice.”

“It’s not. It’s lonely.”

“Yeah,” he began, “I wish I knew if there was a meaning of life. I keep searching for a meaning. Then I got Wendla’s letter. The silly thing is, I’ve never felt so understood.”

“That’s not silly. It’s a rare and beautiful thing to be understood.”

“Fine. But, Mo, do you know what is silly?”

“What?” 

“That hair of yours! Seriously do you ever wash it?” he said, reaching out to fluff it. I leant back and nearly fell.

“I am a human oil well!”

  
  


We were sat listening to something by The Smiths, Asleep, silently just taking in the ambience.

“Gravity is matter’s response to loneliness.” I said, unprovoked.

“Who said that?” Melchior asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Then I guess you said it, Mo.”

“My mum loved this song.” I said, remembering those dark afternoons spent listening to The Smiths on her records when I was small. Father sold the records a year after she died, the record player too. I wonder where they are now.

“Did she?”

“Yeah, she did. She used to say that every song, movie, story, has a best part.” I replied, absentmindedly smiling.

The piano was looping and Morrissey’s voice was just gently singing ‘must be’ over it.

“Was that it?” Melchior asked, softly as to not disturb the music.

“Are you asking or saying?”

The words became less frequent, the beautiful piano interlude continuing to play.

“That was it.” he whispered.

“Yeah.” I whispered in reply.

  
  


“You know, Melchi, you really didn’t have to walk me home.” I said as we arrived just outside my door.

“Nonsense, Mo, you walked me to my house last time anyway.” he replied.

“Well, thank you. See you soon?” 

“Yeah, see you soon, Mo.” he said and turned to leave.

I opened my door and was about to step in.

“Hey, Mo!” he said, “I hope you find a good meaning of life.”

He smiled and waved, actually walking away that time. I couldn’t help but watch him leave.

  
  


Later, watching some Cinemasins on YouTube, I happened to peak outside my bedroom window. Across the street, I could see Melchior and Wendla talking to each other. Stupidly, I began to wonder what they were talking about. Then he kissed her. She looked back to her house and pecked him on the cheek to say goodnight. He walked away, something inscrutable on his face. It hurt, not good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know the end sucks but it's a semi-important bit in the film. the middle, though, joy to write. thank you for reading.


	14. I Knew It Wasn't Too Important But It Made Me Sad Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> filler chapter with a brief overview of melchior and wendla's relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was just for the sake of the passage of time really, between shit happening.

When school started after the winter holidays, Melchior and Wendla were now officially boyfriend and girlfriend, which was great. Just, fabulous. Well, we saw less of Wendla, as they had a similar arrangement to Hanschen and Ernst, wherein they would alternate between whose friends they spent lunch with. But, we also got to see more of Melchior when they would ‘visit’. 

“Holy shit! Is that who I think it is?” Georg said, looking towards The Cave entrance.

“That depends on who you think it is.” Hanschen deadpanned, not even looking up from his phone.

“Ha-bloody-ha. But seriously, I think that’s Melchior Gabor.” Georg continued, nudging Hanschen lightly.

“Melchior? Really?” I asked, suddenly emerging from my semi-comatose state of scrolling through Reddit, “Yeah, it’s Melchior alright.”

“What’s he coming here for?” Ilse asked, looking slightly less melancholy than she had since lunch the day before. She seemed kind of sad now that Wendla wasn’t hanging around so much.

“He’s with Wendla.” Ernst chimed, pointing at the girl walking next to him, holding his hand.

“Hey there, you guys!” Wendla said as she arrived, Melchior in tow.

“Hi.” We all said in unison, immediately snapping into staring at Melchior, who was growing visibly uncomfortable.

“You all know Melchior, right?”

We all nodded at her briefly before turning back to him.

“Been a while, I guess.” Melchior said, standing kind of awkwardly at the foot of the bench.

“It really has. Still think you’re more like Peter Pan than me?” Ilse said, becoming more like her usual lively self.

“Please don’t start that fight again.” I added.

“Well, Ilse Neumann, it’s no longer a matter of  _ thinking _ I’m more like Peter Pan than you, I have conclusive proof.”

“Is that so, Melchior Gabor?”

“Yes.”

“What proof? Can you fly? Do you wear green tights? Friends with any fairies?”

“I have a Wendy.” he said, grinning and pointing to the Wendla attached to his arm.

We all laughed, even those of us who didn’t know where this all came from. I could tell Melchior would fit right in in The Cave.

  
  


Gretchens_Baby   
You never told me your friends were   
so cool.

I knew Moritz was, but Ilse kind of    
surprised me.

b_pavlikovsky   
i’m glad you agree with me.

they think you’re pretty cool too.

apart from hanschen, but he    
doesn’t like anybody except ernst.

Gretchens_Baby   
Lmao true

Next time i see him, i’ll call him   
Hansi like Moritz told me.

b_pavlikovsky   
lol nice one

  
  


One day in mid-February, nothing was happening in The Cave, a rare occurrence. 

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this.” Ilse began, draped across the bench surface, “I miss Melchior Gabor.”

“Jesus Christ, Ilse, it’s been 3 days.” Hanschen said, arm casually wrapped around Ernst.

“Nah, I call bullshit, Ilse.” Georg retorted, “You just miss Wendla.”

“I just don’t get why she has to revise with him! Mocks aren’t until next week!” she cried.

“Because they want to do well in their mocks. And Melchior’s smart, so Wendla figured he could help her.” I replied, not even looking up from Reddit.

“Fat chance.” Ernst chimed in, “Melchior’s an awful teacher. He can’t explain anything at all, he just expects people to  _ get _ things like he does.”

“I’ve never had a problem with his teaching.” Hanschen added.

“Hansi, you are the exact same way.”

  
  


March mocks were a nightmare.

“Why couldn’t we be in the hall for these mocks like in November?” Ilse asked, slouching onto the bench after the English Language paper 2 mock.

“They probably couldn’t book it or something. Besides, you didn’t have as many interruptions as we did.” Melchior replied.

“You know, when you have a fire alarm go off, the rest of the school does too. Just because you’re in the library doesn’t mean you’re isolated.”

“Not the fire alarms, Ilse. Someone got arrested.”

Everyone but Hanschen and I turned to stare at him.

“Someone got what now?” Georg asked.

“Someone got arrested.” Melchior replied.

“Who?” Wendla asked.

“Don’t know. Nobody I know.” he replied, completely emotionless.

“Right, on another note, anyone know what a homologous series is?” Ernst interrupted. Hanschen just smirked at him.

  
  


“Hey, are you guys busy on Saturday?” Wendla asked as everyone was quietly eating their lunch on a Thursday in March.

“Wouldn’t think so, right?” Ilse replied, looking around at everyone else, we all simply nodded.

“Well, could you please come to my hockey game on Saturday? It’s the last one of the season-”

“Wendla, I’m gonna stop you right there.” Melchior interrupted, “Of course we’ll come to your hockey game! What time is it?”

“Well it’s at 10am. I usually catch the bus there, so you should meet me at my house at 9.” she replied, blushing a light pink.

“9?” I asked, incredulous, “I go to sleep three hours before that!”

“Well, go to sleep earlier. You’re going, Ritz. I’ll swing by at half 8.” Ilse said, shoving my shoulder playfully. It was playful but it hurt.

“Thanks, Melchi.” Wendla said, giving Melchior a quick peck on the cheek.

I felt a twang in my chest from that. She called him Melchi. That’s what I call him. Guess that’s just what I get for pretending I could be special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd like to make it known that i'm not an active shipper of melchior and wendla. canonically, they like each other somewhat, and i only made it this pairing to start with for plot. i felt no joy writing this, which is good as it's not a particularly happy one anyway. hope you thought it was okay.


	15. Everything Beautiful Is Ruined Eventually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the hockey game! and the locker room after!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't want to spoil it but i also want to apologise before you read this.

Gretchens_Baby   
Good luck out there, Wendy!

b_pavlikovsky   
thx!

  
  


little_butterfly   
melchior says good luck!

FaerieQueen   
Nice!

Good to know you’re awake LOL

little_butterfly   
how could i miss a bunch of angry women   
running around and hitting a ball with sticks?

  
  


The game was nice, I guess. Probably would’ve been more enjoyable if I understood hockey, but I’m not really a sports guy so there’s no point. Everyone actually showed, surprisingly. Heck, Georg even got Otto to tag along. It was nice to see Otto, I didn’t know the guy too well but he seemed to make Georg really happy. And he knows sports, so he sort of half-explained what was going on and cheered at the most appropriate times. Probably. Like I said, I’m a dunce at sports.

Near the end of the game, Wendla was in her area, possibly strategic defense (beats me), and the ball was just elsewhere, nowhere she needed to really worry about. She looked up at us and waved, so, of course, we waved back, and she grinned what would have been a toothy grin if she didn’t have a gum shield. But the ball was barrelling towards her. Somehow, no one else around there had managed to claim it, and it was hurtling directly towards her. So, as any good friends would do, we tried frantically to point it out to her. We were pointing and pointing, trying not to shout to give it away to her opponents.

“WENDY, BEHIND YOU!” Ilse finally shouted as Wendla’s window of opportunity was beginning to close.

Wendla turned around and got the ball in the nick of time, and just ran towards her goal, quickly slapping it directly into the goal, the goalkeeper (is that the term?) nowhere near it. I think that was the winning goal, as everyone erupted into cheers and the team swarmed Wendla, like she was some kind of God. It was amazing. She’s good at hockey.

  
  


After the game, I went to go congratulate Wendla in the locker room with Melchior.

“You know, Mo, I don’t know much about hockey, but I’d say Wendla’s a pretty decent player.” Melchior said as we entered the clubhouse building that housed the locker rooms.

“I have to agree. I’m completely dense about any sport, though, so take my opinion with a grain of salt.”

“Really? I reckon you’d make a good chess player.”

“I have no idea how to play chess. Too many rules for all the different pieces.” I replied, scrunching my nose. I can tolerate chess but I can’t really respect the game too much, it’s too convoluted for my liking.

“I should’ve known you’d say that. You’ve always hated Monopoly too.”

“You can’t say shit about hating Monopoly, Melchi. You hate any game you’re not winning.” I jibed, lightly elbowing him.

“That is so not true.”

“Oh yeah? How about when we were seven and we played Cluedo for the first and last time, eh? I beat you and you declared that the game was rubbish and vowed to never play it again.”

“And I stand by it, Mo, it’s a shit game.”

“It’s not! You suggested we play it!”

“Curse you, Mortiz Steifel, and your encyclopedic knowledge of our childhood!”

“Whatever, Doofenshmirtz.”

“Did you just-” he began, a look of petulant indignation spreading across his face before rapidly dissipating, “You know what, I’m not even mad. Doofenshmirtz has a killer theme.”

We continued to talk until we got to the locker room. Ilse was already talking to Wendla inside, so we stayed just outside the doorway and waited for them to either notice us or finish speaking.

I don’t know what they were talking about, but I know exactly where it led. It practically happened in slow motion. Wendla laughed at something Ilse said, then subsided into just softly smiling at Ilse, who was also smiling. Their eyes were locked together for a few moments. Then, Wendla suddenly leaned closer to Ilse and gently pressed her lips to hers. Ilse’s eyes widened in shock, and gently pushed her back after a moment of hesitation.

“Wendla, I like you, I really do. And I would love to kiss you again, but-” Ilse began, still holding Wendla’s arms, but froze when she saw us in the doorway.

I looked at Melchior, whose eyes simply widened as his jaw tightened into a frown. I didn’t like that frown, so I just looked back at Wendla and Ilse, who were no longer kissing. Wendla was almost catatonic, as her hand slowly rose to her lips, and Ilse seemed similarly regretful. Poor Melchior.

Then they saw us standing in the doorway. They both stood.

“Melchi, I’m so sorry.” began Wendla.

“Shit, Melchior, I-” Ilse began.

Melchior just walked away as I stood there, numbly, unable to do anything but reach my hand out to him impotently. I looked at the two girls, Wendla on the verge of tears and Ilse wide-eyed and anxious.

“You-” I began, “You, ugh, I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m sorry, Moritz.” Wendla said, “I, I know I’ve w-wasted all your t-time.”

“N-no. You don’t need to apologise to me. You need to apologise to Melchior.” I replied, flatly.

“I will do but I just-”

“No, Wendy, no apologies for me.”

“But I messed-”

“No. Did you even see him?” I spat out, my own eyes filling with tears, “I’ve never seen him so, um, so morose before.”

“What?” Ilse asked.

“Sad. He was so upset.”

And with that, I left them. Admittedly, it was probably a dick move to leave Wendla when she was that miserable, but I just had to get out of there.

  
  


School on Monday was more melancholic than stressful as it should have been, considering GCSE exams were only a fortnight away. Wendla and Melchior didn’t sit with us in The Cave anymore. And Ilse seemed withdrawn, far away. The walk from home was more lonely than I remembered it being, without Wendla there to chat with.

  
  


“I’m onto you, Moritz Steifel.” Bobby Maler said as he walked out from behind The Dog and Bastard. This was a nightmare.

“What?” I asked, stopping in my tracks.

“I know why you’re always hanging around.” he said, beginning to circle me like a vulture, “Popping up everywhere.”

“Listen, Bobby, it was only going to be one letter-”

“You’re in love with me.” he said, a smugness practically tattooed across his face.

“Whatever. Can I go home now?” I asked.

“I mean, I totally get it. I’m awesome.” he continued, completely ignoring me, “But it’s wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Yeah, Being a queer. It’s wrong.” he said, coming right up into my face so I could smell the tuna on his breath.

“Well, that’s just not true, aren’t you friends with-”

“Shut up, fag. I’ll teach you a lesson.” he snarled.

“What the fuck, dude.”

“Say another word and I’ll punch you!”

“No, please-” I began to squeak out, backing away.

I watched him, in slow motion, gear up for a hit, my eyes widening in terror as I began to cower away from him, back towards school. Then someone grabbed him from behind.

Otto.

Someone else rushed to my side. Ernst, I’d know that gentle voice anywhere.

“Come on, Mo, let’s get you home.” he said, gently guiding me to his side, “Ilse, you bring his bike.”

I cried that night. Ernst and Ilse stayed over and held me as I cried. We watched a movie, and Ilse even explained what happened to me to my dad. I just couldn’t look my father in the eyes to tell him. Tell him that Bobby Maler had threatened me because he thought I was gay and in love with him. 

And then I’d have to explain to my father that while I’m not in love with Bobby Maler, I am hopelessly, head over heels in love with Melchior Gabor. And the gay thing was only 70% accurate, something I’d only told my friends, and even then only earlier that day.

It’s not always easy to be proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, so sorry about that. it's mostly for plot, and it's definitely out of character, but i'm still sorry. i promise it gets better after this, and that i took no joy in writing that at all, this entire chapter upset me.


	16. Hell Is Other People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they're leaving secondary! woo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mostly a chronicle of the aftermath of last chapter (sorry) plus other stuff

I really missed Melchior and Wendla. Ilse missed them too, I could tell. She was withdrawn, choosing to read through her revision notes (completely out of character, she crams last minute) instead of inciting her usual chaotic hijinks. In a way, I guess I missed Ilse too.

“Is that Wendla?” Georg asked, looking up from his phone, a puzzled look morphing onto his face.

“I doubt it.” Ilse said, still staring at her book.

“No, I think it is.” Ernst affirmed, looking in the same direction as Georg.

“Huh? Wonder what she could possibly want from us.” I said, looking up from my own phone to watch Wendla power walking to The Cave from across the courtyard.

“Hi, um, guys.” Wendla said as she stopped at our bench. It was just like the first time she came here.

“Hi.” everyone but Ilse said in near-unison.

“Wendla?” Ilse asked, actually looking up from her book in a sort of melancholic bewilderment. Like she’d had this exact dream and wanted it to be true.

“Ilse! Nice to see you.” Wendla replied, beaming, causing Ilse to blush. Weird. Ilse never blushes.

“Nice to see you too.” Ilse said, returning a wide smile, the melancholic cloud disappearing from her eyes, “What are you doing here? I thought because of-”

“No, I’ve had a change of mind. In fact, um, Mo, could you move please?”

I obliged, leaving a vacant space next to Ilse on the bench. For whatever reason, everyone else except Ilse followed suit, standing in a huddle around the foot of the bench. 

“Ilse,” Wendla said as she got down on one knee, reaching into her blazer pocket to take out a small ring box.

Me, Georg, Hanschen and Ernst exchanged shocked looks. Wendla was proposing. I suppose it was technically legal, with permission, though that’s difficult for Ilse to get. Not entirely out of the question.

“Will you make me the happiest girl, heck, person in our year,” she continued, opening the box to reveal a rather gothic-looking purple rose ring inside, “And be my date to the prom?”

Our jaws collectively dropped. Ilse brought her hand to her chest in surprise. She smiled at Wendla and nodded.

Wendla jumped up and hugged Ilse, quickly getting the ring out of the box and placing it gently on Ilse’s ring finger, like they were actually engaged, before kissing her. They were all smiley and kissey for the rest of lunch, it would’ve been great if I wasn’t stuck seventh wheeling after Otto joined the table. A table full of three happy couples and one miserable single guy. Sounds like the plot of a shit movie.

  
  


Exams began to happen very stressfully. Some were relatively nice, others were almost traumatising. Like the English Lit paper 2 one was a thing, I did not enjoy that. Latin exams weren’t great either, but to be fair I am shit at Latin so maybe the exam wasn’t the problem.

We still hung out in The Cave, though, when we could. I still missed Melchior. I managed to make missing Melchior an art, a kind of hobby, if you will. The strangest part was less that it had been 4 weeks and I still missed him, but that he really wasn’t in our group that long. He was part of The Cave for three months, yet his absence left a vacuum that Otto’s occasional visits weren’t filling. Hanschen’s been around for about a year and I know for a fact I wouldn’t miss him as much if he was gone for a few weeks. No offense to Hansi or anything. Melchior was just different. Inexplicably different.

I snuck glances at him in the corridors sometimes. Just in passing, when I happened to notice him. Which was every damn second that he was in the same room as me. Like he was a beacon or something. I could practically feel his very aura burning me in whatever part of myself was closest. But I could never talk to him. Never look him in the eyes, even for a small smile. It was so painful. I really missed him.

  
  


“Hey, Mrs Gabor.” I said after I hung back in the third to last English Literature lesson.

“Yes, Moritz.” she replied, cleaning her white board.

“Is Melchior okay?”

She seemed taken aback by my question.

“Is he?” I nudged.

“Why do you ask?” she deflected. Perhaps Melchior had already discussed this with her.

“Well, I saw what happened with Wendla, and he doesn’t hang out in The Cave anymore, and I haven’t talked to him since-” I began.

“I don’t know, Moritz.” she replied, sitting on one of the front desks, “He’s scarcely spoken to me since he went to that hockey game. What happened with Wendla?”

“Well, um, it’s not really my place-”

“Please tell me, Moritz.”

“Um, Wendla kissed my friend Ilse. Like, really kissed, with intention. And, well, I don’t exactly know how they broke up or anything, but I know they did since Wendla asked Ilse to prom a few weeks ago.”

“Oh. Explains the moping.” she replied, “He’s been spending an awful lot of time out lately.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be. I’ll talk to him about it tonight.” she said, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“O Captain, my captain.” I said, beaming. She smiled back.

“Thank you for that. Remember, you always have a standing invitation to a cup of tea at my house. Now, go, you have an exam soon.” she replied, sending me on my way.

I was going to miss Mrs. Gabor. Guess that ran in the family.

  
  


“It’s been a good five years, Year Eleven. We’re very sad to see you go, but we hope you’re all successful in the endeavours you may pursue.” Mr Knochenbruch said in our Leavers’ Assembly. A few people were crying. I had no tears left to shed for that damn school, possibly the worst five years of my life.

“Even drug dealing?” some aspiring class clown I couldn’t remember if I tried shouted, getting a small eruption of laughter.

“Thank you, Whatshisface. I should really say all your legal endeavours, especially our aspiring lawyers,” Knochenbruch corrected, shushing the ruckus immediately, “Anyway, Thea Auerbach has something she’d like to say.

Thea stood from her seat in the back row. She began to walk, agonisingly slowly, down the steps to the stage. Seriously, she was like a bride in her twenties, really milking that walk.

“Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud.” she read from a slip of paper. Corinthians, I didn’t like where this was headed, “Which is why I love that boy up there.”

She pointed directly at Melchior. I did not like where this was going. This could not be happening.

“And why he’ll make me very happy to be my prom date.” Thea continued, “Melchior Gabor, will you?”

Melchior stood, hesitantly. I saw him look beside him at Bobby Maler, who simply nodded his head. He bowed his own head and made his way to the stage, and simply nodded when he got there. I couldn’t help myself. I don’t know what came over me.

“No!” I shouted as I sprang up from my seat.

Everyone gasped and turned to look at me. Shit. I did not think this through.

“I, um, uh, love. It, um, it isn’t-” I began to stammer out.

“Thank you, Moritz,” Knochenbruch said, cutting me off, “Everyone-”

“Love isn’t pretending.” Wendla chimed in, also standing up, “Um, I know because, uh, I myself was pretending. Only for a few months, but it sucked.”

“Wendy.” I whispered to her.

“And I’ve been thinking about how much it would suck to have to pretend to be, um, not you, um, your whole life.” she continued, “I always thought there was one, right way to love. But there are so many more than I knew. And I don’t want to be the girl who stops loving someone for loving differently to me. Heck, I can and do love like that too.”

“Thank you, Wendla, for that. It was, um odd.” Knochenbruch started up again, “Now, let’s give Thea-”

“I’ve also been pretending!” I shouted, “I’ve been pretending that-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Bobby Maler interrupted, “Look, Mo, I’m sort of flattered, mostly disgusted, but sort of flattered, but you see-”

“Bobby, I have been writing your English homework since Year 9.” I said, cutting him off, “I’m rewriting you again.”

The crowd gasped. Not sure why, I’d been doing half of their homeworks too.

“Love isn’t patient and kind and humble.” I began, starting to make my own way down to the stage, “Love is, love is messy. And horrible and selfish, and bold.”

As I reached the stage, I could see Melchior’s face. I couldn’t read it.

“It’s not finding your perfect half. It’s the trying, and reaching, and failing. Love is,” I continued, “being willing to sacrifice your good poem for the chance at a great one.”

I looked directly into Melchior’s eyes, once so full of passion, now dull and numb.

“Tell me, is this really the boldest line you can write?”

“You.” he said to me, some fire returning to his eyes.

“Yeah.” I replied.

He walked away from Thea and up to me. I didn’t know what he wanted to do. Hug me? Punch me? Threaten me? He simply looked into my eyes, looked up at Wendla, then stormed out.

All hell broke loose. I just fought my way to my bag and left. Awful end to an awful month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i don't like the thea thing any more than you do, and i know i should've developed it more but it's the best thing i could think of for plot.


	17. Love Is Messy And Horrible And Selfish. . . And Bold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they've left school! no more tibby for them!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo i liked this chapter, good things happen after the awfulness of the last 2. told you it gets better.

After exams finished I felt strangely empty. I still hadn’t taken up Mrs. Gabor’s open invitation, nor had I done anything on my list of things I would do when I had the time. My phone and laptop were both staring at me, imploring me to message Melchior, but I couldn’t. What if he’d blocked me? Or worse, deactivated his account entirely. I just couldn’t bring myself to even check.

Me and my friends from The Cave had hung out at each other’s houses a bit, apart from my house but they’d all visited at some point and knew there wasn’t enough room for me to keep a stick insect in there, nevermind five or six humans.

Wendla and Ilse were very happy together. It should have made me more happy than it did, seeing their romance blossom from a friendship I helped rekindle. Yeah, a friendship I helped rekindle while trying to set Wendla up with another person.

  
  


One particular Saturday in late June, I got so bored I went for a walk, randomly. I didn’t even bid my father farewell as I left, I simply grabbed a bag, my phone, headphones and a book and left, almost forgetting my shoes. I didn’t know where I was going until I got there. 

Somehow my feet, despite only going there twice, had taken me to The Tree. Melchior’s Tree. I wished it was our tree.

I climbed it with ease, despite the new, absinthe-coloured leaves obscuring my view. The branch was still accessible. And the view. Oh God, the view was even more spectacular with the leaves, casting shadows and obscuring enough of the town so it wasn’t annoying, but wonderful. Like a photograph you discovered in the woods. I wished I did photography. That would have to wait until September, at Erwachen.

Mrs. Gabor had convinced me. Or, more rather, Ernst, Ilse, and Hanschen convinced me as they’re going there too, and showed me that I wouldn’t have to pay if I applied for a bursary. They even talked to my dad, who said he was totally fine with it anyway. So, no more shitty Durant Sixth Form.

  
  


I decided to read up there. I was reading the perks of being a wallflower, again, as I decided to read what I considered to be literature’s greatest hits. Next up was The Catcher in the Rye again.

  
  


“Moritz?” a voice like melting hazelnut spread said from the foot of the tree, pulling me out of my trance of listening to music after I’d finished my book.

“Melchior?” I asked, looking down to see him looking up at me.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, beginning to climb.

“You know, reading, listening to music. Thinking hypnotic things.” I replied, cooly, as I put my headphones in my bag.

“Cool, cool.” he replied, sitting down next to me like the last couple of times, only more withdrawn. His arm wasn’t slightly behind my back this time.

“Um, you stopped hanging out at The Cave.” I said, after a beat.

“What?”

“After the thing with Wendla and Ilse, you stopped hanging out at The Cave.”

“I know, I just was hurt. Why do you care?” he asked me, a little wounded.

“I missed you.” I replied.

We sat in an awkward silence for a minute.

“What’s been going on with you?” I asked, finally.

“Not much. Writing poetry, reading, writing a few essays.” he replied.

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah. What’ve you been doing?”

“Nothing much. I have my induction at Erwachen in a couple of weeks, though.” I replied, beginning to swing my legs out of boredom. Something was different between us.

“No shit, me too.” he replied, “It’s great that you’re going to Erwachen instead of Durant. Durant’s a real hole, you know, the sixth form is the only thing keeping it open.”

“How did you know?”

“My mother told me.” he replied, “She also told me that you told her about what happened with Wendla.”

“Sorry, she asked and I-”

“No, it’s fine, Mo, it’s fine. I’m kind of glad you did.” he interrupted, “She, she really helped me get over it. And again when I found out about-”

“I know. I’m sorry. It was supposed to be one letter, but I just really enjoyed talking to you.” I tried to explain.

“You know, Moritz, deep down I probably knew the truth.”

“How?”

“Wendla doesn’t strike me as a Discord person. And you did not use enough emojis in her messages.” he replied, beginning to grin a little.

“I don’t know what they mean!”

“Like a flower. Or a peach.”

“A peach?”

“Wendla likes peaches. She once said they are ‘just peachy’.”

“I should’ve sent you a peach emoji?” I asked, incredulous and joking.

“Fair point, Mo, fair point,” he said, “It’s not like it’s never crossed my mind. If things were a little different. If I was different.”

“You could never be different,” I said, before mocking him, “‘Am I sure I’m different? How do I know I’m sure?’”

“Hey, I can be sure.”

“‘What even is the meaning of life?’”

“Oh my God.”

“And on, and on, and on, and on.”

“You know what, Mo, you watch me. Just watch me. I’m calling, one day I’ll be so sure.”

“Oh yeah? Good luck with that.”

“Whatever, I’m sure about the whole sexuality thing. Seriously, if I wasn’t going to prom with Thea, maybe you’d stand a chance, but she thinks because she-” Melchior began to explain.

“You’re still going to prom with Thea?” I asked.

“I guess. I don’t want to, she’s kind of a dick.” he replied, looking down at his shoes.

“Then don’t go with her. Break it off.”

“Who would I go with then?” he asked, looking deep into my eyes, like he was searching my soul for answers to his predicament.

“Um, I don’t know. You could always go by yourself?” I suggested.

“Nah. Kind of sad, going to prom alone, don’t you think?” he replied with a sigh. Not the answer he was looking for.

“I’m going to prom alone.” I said, deadpan.

“Shit, Mo, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine, Melchi, it’s fine. I agree.” I replied, “Unfortunately just what happens when all your closest friends are in relationships and no one had looked your way yet.”

“Well that’s not true. Martha had a crush on you for a month in Year 8.” he tried to assure me.

“Doesn’t count. And even then, she’s with Anna.” I replied.

“She is?”

“Yes. Did you not see them?”

“I just thought they were really good friends.”

“Jesus Christ, Melchi.” I exclaimed.

We fell into a comfortable silence.

“Hey, I have a crazy idea.” I said, breaking the contented quiet of the afternoon.

“Oh yeah?” he asked.

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

“I promise.”

“Well, why don’t you, um,” I began, my cheeks already gaining a red hue, “Why don’t you come to prom with me?”

“But Wendla-”

“Wendla’s fine, she’s going with Ilse. She did a cute little promposal with a purple rose ring and everything.” I explained, “Please, Melchi. We don’t even have to tell anyone, we can just go as friends.”

“No, that wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Sure you can, Melchi, you can tell me anything.” I said, shifting my perch so I was facing him directly, “Please, Melchior?”

“No, I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Melchi, come on.”

“Nope.” he said, shaking his head, his cheeks flushing for some reason. Why?

“Melchi-”

“Because I like you too much to do that to you, Mo.” he blurted out, his words almost joined together.

“Melchi? What?”

“I like you, a lot. But I can’t do shit as ‘just friends’ with you. Because we’re not just friends. I don’t want us to be just friends. And sometimes, I let myself believe you want that too, that you want more. That you’re being good, old Moritz. Dear, sweet Moritz. Moritz who puts everyone else’s feelings before his own, thinking that counts as love. But I don’t want you to do that, Mo.” he explained, a few tears coming to his eyes, “Tell me, Moritz, what do you want?”

“I want, um, I want you to be happy.”

“That’s sweet, Mo, but I can’t feel that. You don’t even really know me.”

“Of course I do, Melchi. All those letters were the real you. And those afternoons in this very tree, that was the real you. And when we watched Knives Out, that was the real Melchior.” I replied.

“Yeah, but why didn’t you ask me out before Wendla did?” he asked, placing his hand on mine.

“Melchi, I’m a mess. I don’t think I’m really worth anything, so I put everyone else’s happiness before my own. Wendy’s my friend, I couldn’t hurt her like that.”

“She’d understand.”

“Easy to say now she’s with Ilse.” I replied.

“She talked to me, you know, about a week into exams. She apologised and said I was right to dump her.” he began, “I remember leaving the clubhouse that day feeling so small.”

“But. Melchi, you’re not small.” I said, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

“So? What do you want from me?” he asked, his eyes aflame.

“I want to kiss you.” I replied without thinking.

I planted a deep, long kiss on his lips. He looked at me, bewildered, after I pulled away, and slowly brought his hand to touch his lips.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, I know you don’t-” I began before I was cut off by Melchior kissing me.

We kissed and we kissed and we kissed, only breaking away for air and to smile at each other. He tasted cinnamon and apples. Then we sat, hands intertwined, my head on his shoulder, for a while. All this time. This was what we needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really enjoyed getting to finally write that. i hope you like it.


	18. And In That Moment, I swear, We Were Infinite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's prom! wooo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl this chapter doesn't matter, but i wnted to write it because my prom was cancelled

Melchior and I spent a lot of time together that summer. He came round to my house. I finally took up Mrs Gabor on her open invitation, though it was now Melchior’s open invitation too. We had a few sleepovers, but didn’t do anything like  _ that _ . I’m not really interested in doing anything of that specific nature ever, I don’t really get how people are. 

We hung out with our friends too. Well, my friends originally as we never hung out with the Bobby Maler crowd. I didn’t ask, but I don’t think he hangs out with them anymore, which I’m glad about. They never could make him smile. But with everyone from The Cave, Wendla, Ilse, Georg, Otto, Ernst and even Hanschen can get him to crack a smile. It’s my favourite thing to see.

  
  


For prom I wore my suit from the talent show, but had a turquoise tie instead of the black one. To match with Melchior. I remember when he handed me the tie:

“Here.” he said one Thursday in early July when I went to visit, holding out the tie.

“What is it?” I asked, looking up from it to him, raising an eyebrow.

“A tie.”

“What for?”

“Prom, dickhead.” he half-explained, “I can’t get you a, what are they called, croissante or whatever. So. Tie.”

You had to admire the logic.

“What about you?” I asked, “Do you have, like, a turquoise watch or something?”

“No. I have a matching tie.”

“Then how is this like the corsage thing? In High School Musical 3-”

“Are you seriously basing your argument on the High School Musical franchise?”

“You bet your ass I am.” I replied, firmly, “In High School Musical 3, Troy buys Gabriella a corsage. He does not wear one too.”

“No, but,” he began, holding up his pointed fingers in his explain-stance, “They do have matching brooch-type things. Hence, matching ties.”

I personally still don’t quite get the logic, but don’t think matching ties needs one.

  
  


Prom started at seven, but at five-ish we all congregated at Melchior’s place, the centre location, to get ready. Everyone was buzzing with nerves and excitement. I mean, it’s prom! Is it just a glorified party? Arguably. Was I still excited? Hell to the yes. 

Everyone looked so great, I will even concede that I did manage to clean up and look at least partially decent in my black suit from the talent show and turquoise tie. Wendla tried her hardest to make my hair obey her and style it in a respectable fashion, but it simply would not stop springing up into a heap of messy curls that I can only describe as a very serious bowl cut. It was like a cartoon, watching her try to brush and spray it down, doing everything short of perhaps a blood sacrifice, to tame the creature that is my hair. Everyone else could’ve knocked you out.

Martha and Anna were adorably matching in these nice, short dresses. Anna was wearing a dark, emerald green dress, while Martha wore a cream one in a similar style. Their shoes were the same, as were their corsages from Bergmann Florists. However, Anna curled her hair so it spilled down her left shoulder in a chestnut waterfall, while Martha permed hers towards her right. They kept rubbing noses, it’s disgusting how in love they are, not like I can judge or blame them much anymore.

Georg and Otto, however, decided to mix and match a little bit. Otto wore this very classy, black tuxedo with a boutonniere of yellow flower sprigs, courtesy of Wendla’s mother. Seriously, he had that weird ruffle thing with a yellow bowtie and everything. Georg opted for a suit, with a yellow tie to match Otto’s bowtie, and a yellow handkerchief thing to class it up a little (his words). He also had a corsage on his wrist, matching Otto’s boutonniere. It was Otto’s idea of a nice traditional thing they could do to “impress the heteros”. I really respect it.

Hanschen and Ernst took a similar approach to Otto with their attire. They both wore tuxedos with matching boutonnieres and bowties, both of which were dark purple, though their strange ruffle things were absent. Ernst chose a navy tuxedo and combed his hair so it looked respectable, like he was going to a ball in a period drama or Mass. Hanschen’s hair was done similarly, though with more flair, and picked out a deep red velvet tuxedo. They kept glancing at each other, then smiling, like they both felt so lucky to be going to prom with such a snack. At least that’s what Ernst told me.

How can I possibly describe how gorgeous both Wendla and Ilse looked for prom? They decided on a turquoise and lilac theme for their ensemble, but clearly planned their outfits separately as a surprise for one another, and it managed to work in the most spectacular way. Wendla selected a flowy, tulle (I think, she told me it was a tulle dress) dress with a split in the skirt, that was turquoise with little flowers and plant stems embroidered on the bodice. In short, she went full forest fairy, with little paper flowers dotted through her curled hair with light, glittery make up and strappy, metallic shoes embellished with purple paper roses. Ilse wore the purple rose ring Wendla gave her when she asked her to the prom. She paired it with a strapless, turquoise, tea length dress with a lilac petticoat underneath. Her shoes were black heels embroidered with plant patterns and pastel purple flowers, and her hair was pinned up in a high, elegant bun with a jewelled hair comb slotted in front. Ilse had gotten Wendla a corsage of light purple from a rival florist, which I warned was risky, but Wendla found it hilarious.

None of them compared to Melchior. I wish I could draw, but sadly I could never do his appearance justice. The best I can do is write. His hair, though he would never admit it, was just slightly curled by Wendla’s expert hand so it was much more neat than usual, but still retained the charming impression that, yes, he really was that gorgeous. Not that he wasn’t before, with his broad, strong shoulders, his melting hazelnut spread voice and hands you could hold forever and never get bored. He gives the best hugs. His suit looked like he was meant to wear it, as did his turquoise tie, to match with me. I felt, still do feel, exceptionally lucky to go to prom with him.

Mrs Gabor insisted on taking pictures before we left, right in front of their fireplace, She started off with nice couples photos, that annoyed Melchi a little when she got to ours. She then got us to do a group one. Melchior sent me the pictures after, we’re all smiling so wide, and everyone is just so present. Heck, Ilse was smiling the most naturally and warmly, but she wasn’t even looking at the camera, she was looking right at Wendla. Hanschen and Ernst have been so in love with each other since Year 10, and even their little part of the photo wasn’t as sickeningly sweet as that, their casual hand holding and leaning against each other didn’t hold a candle to that damn smile. 

Me and Melchior travelled to prom with his parents in a fairly awkward car ride. I hadn’t even told my father that I was even going to prom, and he doesn’t have a car anyway. It was tense, as even Mrs Gabor didn’t really talk, mostly smiled. Mr Gabor doesn’t speak much anyway, but he was more stoic than usual. I don’t think he’s as chill as his wife, which is unfortunate but at least we had Mrs Gabor.

  
  


Prom was pretty good. Tibshelf Comprehensive is a shit school in the middle of nowhere, so can’t really afford much, but what they’d managed to pull together was decent. They’d managed to organise prom at a hotel in Greenfield, though it’s poshness made it a little out of place for a town I’ve joked about getting stabbed in every time I go there. The area had a hardwood floor for dancing with a raised stage for the band, though they got a DJ, and had another room for the buffet, complete with the terrace area to get fresh air. Not that the view wasn’t exquisite, but you could probably see three muggings simultaneously, this was Greenfield after all. 

When we arrived we bagged a table for all eight of us in the buffet room and got drinks (just coke, no alcohol as this was a school event so would be illegal). 

“Can you believe it, Melchi? We’re at prom!” I exclaimed as we sat down, only then letting go of his hand since the car ride.

“I know, Moritz, I know,” Melchior began, grinning from ear to ear, “Say want to dance?”

“I’m not so sure, Melchi, I’m not very good-”

“Nonsense, you’ll be excellent.” he interrupted.

“But everyone’s watching.” I said, eyeing the crowd as it got bigger by the minute as more students arrived.

“So?”

“So? Melchi, I can’t-”

“Come on, I’ll be with you the whole time, you can hold my hand and only look at me.” he replied softly, taking my hand.

I looked away from his deep, hazel eyes for a minute to think it through.

“I promise it’ll be alright, Mo.” he said, and squeezed my hand.

“Can we dance later?” I asked.

“Of course. Promise you’ll dance with me later?” Melchior asked me, still holding my hand.

“Promise.” I replied, squeezing his hand back and smiling weakly. We continued to hold hands.

The ensuing conversation was very much like the ones we used to have in The Cave. We chatted and laughed, mostly about how we’d finally made it but still couldn’t remember half the year group’s names, and a few of us would leave to get food from the buffet in pairs. Even I ate something, even if it was a classic simple buffet like the ones straight from a primary school Christmas party.

Eventually, pair by pair, we all got up to dance. First, Martha and Anna left as their song, Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer, began playing. Then Georg and Otto flitted off to join them when All of Me by John Legend began. Quite a few couples rose for that one, appears to be a couple favourite. Even Melchior looked at me longingly during that one, and he was very loudly complaining about the song queue.

“Jesus fucking Christ! This queue is so meandering, this DJ does not know what he’s doing!” Melchior complained, loudly.

“Melchior, why don’t you just go and request some songs?” Hanschen asked him, his arm casually across Ernst’s shoulders.

“Shut the fuck up, Hansi.”

Ernst and Hanschen were the third couple to leave. Ernst’s ears seemed to prick up as their song, Vegas Lights by Panic! At The Disco, began. Hanschen leaned over the table to Melchior and said: “The power of requests.”

This left just us with Wendla and Ilse. The Core Four, if you will. We chatted and laughed about the crazy year we’d had.

“I can’t believe you two ended up together.” Melchior joked, pointing at the two girls, “Wendla, you could really do much better.”

“Oh please, like you’re such a catch, Gabor,” Ilse retorted in a similar, jokey fashion, “At least this now settles the Peter Pan debate.”

“It does not!”

“Does too, now  _ I _ have a Wendy and thus am more like Peter Pan than you.”

“To be fair, Melchi, I always thought she was more like Peter Pan anyway.” I added and began laughing, as did Wendla.

“Mo!” Melchior shouted in indignation and shoved me playfully.

“Yes! In your face, Gabor!” Ilse exclaimed.

“Your mum thinks so too.” Wendla added, smiling as Melchior glared at her, “What? Moritz told me she said so!”

We all burst out laughing, except Melchior, who crossed his arms like a particularly petulant and sulky child.

“You know, if I told myself a year ago that I would be going to prom with Melchior, the most handsome boy I’ve ever met, and be friends with Wendla Bergmann again who was going out with my best friend Ilse, I wouldn’t have believed it.” I said, staring down at the bottom of my third coke.

“I know right,” Ilse began, “Crazy how life is, bringing us something we never knew we could want, and having it make us happier than we ever thought we could be.”

Wendla smiled at Ilse and squeezed her hand, deciding to bring their bodies closer together to rest her head on Ilse’s shoulder. Melchior squeezed my hand and looked at me, his eyes more deep than usual, calling to me like adventure through a forest. I smiled at him, this was ecstasy.

We stayed like that, us four, for one or two songs. Until Wendla sat up immediately and looked at Ilse with a huge, cheesy grin, much like a child who drives past McDonalds after being promised a Happy Meal at the next one they see. Sleepwalk by Santo & Johnny, a fairly romantic song, had started, and Ilse rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, guys, I promised this one I’d dance with her when this song came on.” Ilse said, rising from her seat, still holding Wendla’s hand.

“Yeah, good job ‘this one’ made sure to ask Hanschen and Ernst to request this song when they got down there.” Wendla said, still grinning.

“Why you!” said Ilse, mock angry, and kissed Wendla.

They waved their goodbyes as they were absorbed into the crowd on the dancefloor, leaving me and Melchi alone.

“Mo?” Melchior asked, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb softly.

“Yes Melchi?” I replied.

“What song would you dance with me to?”

“Hmm. In terms of a classic, maybe Mr. Brightside. But one I’d really want to, um, Where is My Mind by Pixies.” I replied.

“Where is My Mind by Pixies.” he echoed, most likely to himself.

“Yeah, but they’ll never play it.”

“Why not?” he asked, raising an eyebrow like he was asking for a credible source.

“It’s kind of a weird song. Pixies are a weird band anyway.” I replied, shrugging it off.

“Back in a minute.” he said, then let go of my hand and got up, walking into the crowd. 

Looking back, I should’ve known exactly what he was doing, but instead I just sat, a little lonely like I expected to be at Prom, and picked at the remaining food on my plate. I had dramatically overestimated my capacity for buffet food.

When Melchior sat back down he continued holding my hand, but didn’t talk much. He kept looking around us, like he was waiting for something.

“What’s wrong, Melchi?” I asked him.

“Nothing, nothing, why would something be wrong?” he replied, briefly making eye contact. He was hiding something.

“Well you keep looking around like you’re about to facilitate a drug deal.”

“Haha, very funny, Mo.”

“Sorry, Melchior, you just seem nervous.”

“I’m not, I’m fine.” he replied, a little too quickly.

I decided to drop it. We stayed like that for a few songs, with me trying to crack him up while he remained a little on edge. Something was off, I could sense it. And I was right, something was up that was making Melchior nervous. But it wasn’t that something was wrong. It was that a simple ‘ooooh’ followed by ‘stop’ leading into some acoustic guitar before the rest of the band kicked in would make it all right.

Those three things fell into place as the look of realisation dawned on my face, and I looked at Melchior. His nerves had dissipated and looked at me with a slight smile, his eyes inscrutable. We didn’t have to say anything, as we both stood up from our places and he guided me to the dancefloor, through the crowd. 

As the electric guitar kicked in, he firmly, but gently, pressed his hand against my back, guiding me close to him, and I followed suit, naturally, like it was meant to be. I pressed my forehead to his and smiled at him.

“Are you glad I got the song?” he asked me, our foreheads still pressed together as we began to sway in step through the dancefloor, the other students disappearing.

“Yes,” I began, breaking into a huge grin and looking directly into his eyes, “I can’t believe you did this for me, Melchi.”

“Of course I did this for you, Mo,” he replied, matching my smile, “Don’t give me too much credit, though. I only did it to get you to dance with me."

I half laughed, half rebroke into another grin, “You’re lucky I like you so much.”

“I know” Melchior replied, guiding me into a little twirl, slightly awkward as I am slightly taller than him by roughly a centimetre.

We continued to dance around the floor, twirling each other, smiling, laughing, swaying. He dipped me a little bit a couple of times, though I told him that I was too weak to even attempt it, but he didn’t mind.

“I adore you.” I said to him as the song began to end, pressing our foreheads together once again.

“I adore you too, Moritz,” Melchior replied, smiling at me, “The song’s great, by the way.”

“Thanks, I’m glad I didn’t make you listen to a shit song just to dance with me.” I giggled.

He giggle in response, as Mr. Brightside started up.

“Did you request this one too?” I asked him, quirking up an eyebrow.

“Yeah, figured I may as well since everyone loves this one and I wanted to make sure you’d dance with me.” he replied, releasing me from the dance-embrace so he was just holding my hand, “Care to dance again, Mr Steifel?”

He did a low bow like one of those men from a period drama.

“Of course, Mr. Gabor.” I replied, mirroring his bow.

We danced to a few more songs, eventually finding our way to join up with our friends so we could all dance together. Unfortunately, we could only dance for three songs all together, until 11pm, then we had to leave.

Marianna Wheelan invited us to an after party herself, with Bobby Maler looking moodily on from around the corner, but we agreed not to go. We’d been to their parties, and Ilse, Wendla and Melchior know that one of us (me) was liable to get lost at some point in the fray and be forced into a drinking game, too afraid to leave out of politeness.

“That was amazing!” Ilse said, arms linked with Wendla’s as they leaned against each other and walked through the carpark. 

“It was okay.” I replied, Melchior’s hand firmly in mine as we walked in step with them.

“Okay? Moritz, have you lost your mind? It was so fun!” Wendla chided, looking at me with a look of complete disbelief.

“Just a fancy party, isn’t it really?” I replied, looking straight ahead, thought I could feel Melchior beginning to smile beside me.

“I get where Mo’s coming from, though. It was nice but not quite as it was cracked up to be.” Hanschen chimed in, voice like a purr, as he walked with Ernst, who was half-leaning against his arm.

“Yeah. It was nice. Fun, even. But it’s probably not ‘the night of nights’.” I added, shrugging slightly.

“Did you just make a High School Musical 3 reference?” Melchior asked me, cracking up slightly.

“Perhaps.”

“Whatever. You guys want to come over?” Ilse asked, looking around at our little group.

“Everyone? Ilse, no offence but your tiny ass flat couldn’t possibly-” Melchior began.

“Hush up about my ‘tiny ass flat’, Gabor, I’m sixteen and I rent my own flat while you still live with your parents, so fuck you.” Ilse began, “And not, like, a proper after party like Bobby and Marianna. I mean the core gang.”

“Who’s the core gang?” Wendla asked, eyebrow quirked in curiosity.

“You know, Wendy. You, me, Gabor, Ritz, Ernie, Hansi, Georg and Otto.” she replied, like it was obvious. I mean, it was, but that’s because me and Ilse have used the phrase ‘the core gang’ over text before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free in the comments to tell me how much my head has romanticised prom, mine was fucking cancelled, i get to make it good.


	19. I Have Something That Makes Me Want To Shout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's the second to last chapter! they're at ilse's flat, then results day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter doesn't need to exist but it does because i love writing happiness

Ilse’s flat is tiny, but it’s a nice tiny. Cosy, if you will. It practically screams Ilse: tiny with a lot of personality. She works at Waterstones, and makes a decent amount, though I’m not sure how much that actually is, or if she has governmental assistance. I know it must be enough for her to nicely decorate after a year or two of saving. 

The walls of the flat are painted lilac by Ilse herself, and she did a good job, they’re not streaky or anything. I remember when she first started living there by herself, when she was thirteen. We offered to help, I even chipped in with Ernst and Georg for furniture and anything else she needed. But she insisted on painting the walls herself, and decorating herself, but was grateful for the money. She said the walls were all shit, that there were so many flaws, but we didn’t notice. My grandfather once told me that nobody but the painter notices the flaws in a painted wall, he was crazy but he was also correct.

As an art student, it was only natural she had some art on the walls. A couple of the prints were framed, though they were mostly mural pieces she painted on there herself when she was bored or inspired. All exquisite.

I can recall the weekend we, and by we I mean me, Ernst and Georg, helped Ilse pick out and move in her sofa. It was a cheap one we found in a charity shop in mid-April, a couple of weeks after she ran away, but it was the perfect sofa for Ilse. Her left arm was broken, hence the running away, and we went around the charity shops with her, looking for things she could have in her house. The sofa was in The British Heart Foundation shop, and she saw and instantly smiled. It was sat on the carpet, all dark purple, slightly worn from use, its cushions looked like you could drown in them. It now sits on her grey carpet, cluttered with cushions acquired in the years since.

  
  


“Ilse, your flat is so cute!” Melchior said as we entered, taking our shoes off at the door.

“Why thank you, I decorated with a little help from Mo, Ernie and Georg.” Ilse replied, slipping off her own shoes and flopping onto the sofa, over the back.

“We can’t take much credit, Ilse. You arranged everything, we just helped you pick.” Georg added, sitting with Otto next to the sofa, in front of Ilse’s new ottoman.

“Well, I still can’t thank you enough.” she replied, stretching and gliding over to the kitchen, “Anyone fancy a cuppa?”

  
  


Everyone accepted the offer, we are British after all. So we sat around Ilse’s living room, discussing prom and what was coming next. Results Day, then college, then the rest of our lives. Me, Melchior, Ilse, Ernst and Hanschen were all going to Erwachen. Georg and Otto were going to Greenfield together. Poor old Wendla was going to Wedekind College on her lonesome. We laugh, but it’s the closest college besides Durant, and we all know Durant’s a disgrace to the word ‘hole’.

“I can’t believe that Results Day is in less than a month.” Hanschen purred after a brief, contented pause.

“I know right,” I began, “Seems like only yesterday we were annoying little Year 7’s, full of hopes and dreams.”

“Yeah, only for them to be harshly crushed by Year 8.” Ernst breathed.

“God, Year 8 was so shit.” Georg chimed in, absently playing with Otto’s tight curls.

“Tough year for everyone, that one,” began Ilse, “No longer the fragile babies of the school to look out for, not yet old enough for GCSEs to be of concern, so no one cares about you.”

“Jesus Christ, you guys, Year 8 was not that bad.” Wendla interjected.

“Yes it was.” Everyone else, including myself, replied.

“Was not. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but both Year 9 and 10 were much worse. And Sports Day that year was just perfect.” she argued, hand entangled in Ilse’s messy, de-styled hair.

“How do you mean?” Melchior asked.

“Well, on Sports Day I mostly just hung around with Martha, Anna and Thea. We chatted about nothing, drew on each other with this white board pen Anna had brought in.” Wendla replied, “And in Year 9, the weight of GCSEs starts to press on, which only gets worse in Year 10.”

“I suppose you’re right, Wendy.” Ernst replied.

“I don’t know. I guess I hate Year 8 so much because it was the year everything really went wrong.” Ilse said, not necessarily in reply, just to get it out there.

There was a beat of silence.

“I quite liked Year 11, though.” Ilse said, smiling as she slouched on her sofa next to Wendla.

“Yeah. Wasn’t quite so bad was it?” I chimed in, “Yeah, GCSEs are a hellscape, but the rest of it was actually alright.”

“Maybe we all go insane in Year 10, so we chill out in Year 11 to compensate for the absurd amount of pressure put on us teens, as we now, subconsciously, know if we don’t we’ll go insane again.” Melchior said, beginning to mess with my hair lightly.

“I guess we’re all a bit insane.” Otto replied.

Me, Melchior and Wendla shared a look. Yeah. I reckon Year 11 had been alright.

We all stayed over that night. Wendla stayed with Ilse in her bed, naturally. The rest of us invaded the living room. I stayed with Melchior on the sofa, Georg and Otto curled up with the assorted cushions and a blanket on the floor, and Hanschen and Ernst laid claim to Ilse’s sleeping bag.

  
  


“Wendla, these pancakes are fantastic!” Ilse exclaimed, sat on her sofa, her 3 pancakes decorated with a pattern of maple syrup.

“Thank you, pearl, I’ve been practising.” Wendla replied from the kitchen, still making some pancakes for everyone else.

“Anyone fancy a cuppa?” I asked, already standing by Ilse’s little kettle.

Most people nodded, 3 requesting coffee instead of tea, so I made myself useful. I had to boil the kettle twice to have enough water for everyone, but I managed just fine. They all accepted Ilse’s cutesy little mugs, gratitude in their eyes - we’re still sort-of children, but have the caffeine dependencies of people in their mid-thirties. Nothing like a good cuppa, be it tea or coffee, to make the day a little more bearable.

“Anyone have any plans before Results Day?” Ernst asked as Wendla and I sat down, snuggled up to Hanschen on a bean bag.

“I want to go see The French Dispatch at the cinema.” Melchior replied.

“My dad’s having a barbecue to watch the football.” Otto replied.

“I’m going to that barbecue, whether it be by invitation or by crashing the joint.” Georg joked. We all laughed with him.

“Might read The Catcher in the Rye again.” I replied, smiling slightly to myself, thought it felt slightly unnatural to do so I stopped.

“Your favourite?” Melchior asked.

“No, an old friend, though.” I replied

“I want to watch a hockey game next week.” Wendla replied.

“Oh, yeah, that reminds me. Have you told your parents about the whole hockey thing yet?” Ernst asked, leaning towards her a little in interest.

“Ha, no.” Wendla replied, sitting up more properly, “I should tell them, in the interest of honesty and having them come to games. But the longer I don’t tell them the more awkward it would be to announce it.”

“True, true. What’s your excuse for being away from this hockey game then?” Ernst ventured.

“Book club. Go-to excuse.”

“As much as I pretend to love hockey,” began Ilse, squeezing Wendla’s knee, “In this next month, I don’t have anything planned as of yet.”

“Nothing at all?” Georg asked.

“Nah. Might go to a museum or art gallery, so long as admission is free.” Ilse shrugged.

“Well, I certainly have plans.” Hanschen purred, scrunching his nose at Ernst, “I’m going shopping for this one’s birthday presents.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Ernst replied with a smile, pecking Hnaschen on the cheek.

“Oh, shit, I ought to do that too!” I exclaimed, “Sorry, Ernst, I almost forgot.”

“It’s fine, Mo, it’s fine. I only brought up plans in hopes to unveil any plans for a surprise birthday party.” Ernst replied with a slight shrug.

“About that, Ernie-” Hanschen began, shifting in his seat to look Ernst in the eye, the kind of way a parent does when they go to explain to their child that a relative or pet has just died.

  
  


We didn’t throw Ernst a surprise party, nor did his parents, so he spent his 16th birthday half at his parents’ house around relatives that made him mildly uncomfortable, half at Melchior’s tree with the core gang. Was it the best we could have done? No. But did we have fun? Yeah. Ernst laughed at how underwhelming turning 16 turned out to be, and we all knowingly nodded. The so-called “Sweet Sixteen” is not all that it’s cracked up to be.

  
  


“I passed! Holy shit I passed!” I exclaimed upon opening the envelope, literally jumping.

“Oh my God, Mo, I’m so proud of you! I know how hard you worked for this.” Melchior smiled, pulling me into a hug that I, a little uncharacteristically, accepted without hesitation.

“Thank you Melchi!” I exclaimed, breaking away and doing a funny jig. I say “doing” like it was voluntary, but that jig really came from somewhere deep in my soul. So deep that it hadn’t shown itself since I was seven years old and my mother took me to Harry Potter World.

“How’d you guys do?” Ilse asked, twitching slightly with excitement, Wendla beaming beside her like always.

“Pretty good. Five 9’s, three 8’s and a 7.” Melchior replied with a nonchalant shrug as we looked at him in disbelief.

“Bloody nora, Melchior, that’s amazing!” Wendla exclaimed, “Which subjects for which level?”

“The 9’s are in English Literature, English Language, History, Chemistry and Biology. The 8’s are Physics and Maths, and the 7 is in Latin.” Melchior listed, counting on his fingers.

“Impressive. Ritz?” Ilse replied, both her and Wendla turning to look at me.

“I didn’t do as good as Melchi, but I still passed everything! I got 8’s in English Literature and Language, 7’s in Science and Music, 6 in Maths, 5 in Art, and a 4 in Latin. So I actually passed!” I replied, reading off the paper. 

Jesus. I managed to pass Latin, a subject I’m famously shit at, and did fairly decently in Art and Maths. I wasn’t particularly worried about my English subjects, and I don’t care about Science. Like, it’s hard to do well in creative subjects like Music or Art, so I’m proud of myself for doing alright. And I struggle with Maths a little, so to get a 6 makes me quite happy.

“So how did you guys do?” Melchior asked, not even a little excited.

“Well, I passed everything. 4 in Latin, 6 in Maths and Art, 7 in Science and the Englishes, and an 8 in Music.” Wendla listed, her perpetual grin increasing so much my cheeks ached just looking at her.

“Holy shit! That’s so good Wendy! An 8 in Music?” I exclaimed, giving her a hug. Two hugs in one day, weird.

“I know right! I can’t believe it!”

“And you, Ilse?” Melchior asked, giving Wendla a congratulatory fist bump.

“Okay I guess. 5 in History, 6 in Drama, Maths and Science, 7 in the Englishes and History, and an 8 in Art.” Ilse replied, beginning to vibrate with excitement.

Wendla pulled us all into a celebratory group hug. We all did so great! I mean, we even managed to do well in the creative subjects, and they’re so hard to do well in. Melchior barely showed an emotion all day, which I found weird, but didn’t want to ask. I caught up with Ernst and Hanschen later that day, Hanschen did around as well as Melchior, but did have 1 less 9 than Melchior, who was merciless about it. Ernst did similar to Ilse. I'm so proud of us all.

I slept over at Melchior’s that night. His mother laid down ground rules, including a “no sex” rule, which made sense but is not a rule that needs stating, I don’t want to do anything like that at all.

“Melchi, are you alright?” I asked at around 1am that night.

“Yeah, Mo, why wouldn’t I be?” Melchior replied, looking away from the movie we had on (Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure).

“I don’t know. You did really well on your GCSEs, but you didn’t seem that excited about it. Anything up?” I ventured, playing with his hair a little.

“I don’t know, Mo,” Melchior replied, sitting more upright, “I’m just a little, um, underwhelmed, I guess.”

“You guess? What do you mean?” 

“If I tell you, you won’t think I’m crazy, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, I’ve been really nervous about results for the past week. I felt the nerves right in my chest, flopping around like a fish, for a week.” he began, a very serious look taking over his features, “And when I opened that envelope, I expected to either be ecstatic or disappointed, afraid of the latter. But I felt, I felt nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing.” he said, a few tears welling in his eyes, “Moritz, am I broken?”

“What? No, Melchi, no. You’re not broken.” I replied, pulling him into my chest in a hug, stroking his hair.

“I am, I am, I should feel something but I don’t, I don’t feel anything at all.” he cried into my shirt.

“I know, I know, I understand.” I whispered, continuing to stroke his hair, “But Melchior, you’re not broken. It’s okay to not be excited, or even just a little happy. It’s okay, success is not happiness.”

“Okay, okay.”

“We are still so proud of you, Melchior, we are. You should be proud of yourself, but you don’t have to be happy. Understand?”

“I understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked this chapter lol. twas unnecessary, but the next one is the last so savour it.


	20. 🍍 🦉 🐛

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's the last chapter, it's kinda sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last one! it's short, but hopefully worth the extended wait as i went away last weekend.

September 7th 2020.

First day of college. New beginning, same old friends clustered around the bus stop at 8am. Wendla’s bus arrived a little after ours, but she wanted to see us off. Or so she said, I think Ilse talked her into it. In any case, while the others chatted enthusiastically, me and Wendla stood off to the side in a private little conversation of our own.

“I can’t believe it.” Wendla said, “I’m the only one of us going to college in our county.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Wendy, you’re doing well with hockey. Good enough to be mentioned in The Chad.” I chimed in, smiling a little.

“Ha, I guess. My hockey career’s gonna skyrocket any minute, I might get to Nottinghamshire before you lot do.” Wendla replied, her slight laugh bittersweet.

“We better get going then.” I laughed as the bus began to crawl from the hill on the High Street, “Shit, here.”

I took my phone from my pocket and texted her.

little_butterfly  
🍍 🦉 🐛

She looked at her phone and smiled, “The caterpillar does look smart.” 

I could see her tearing up.

“Smart enough not to be crying at the bus stop like a wimp.” I joked a little.

“I, I’m not crying.” Wendla replied, wiping the corners of her eyes with her sleeve.

“Wimp.” I choked out before dissolving into tears myself.

“Now, now look who’s the wimp, Steifel.” Wendla laughed, so I laughed too.

“Haha, guess I am, Bergmann.”

So we stood there, silently crying, as the bus to Erwachen pulled up.

As I turned to wave goodbye to Wendla and join the others, she ensnared me in a hug.

“I’ll miss you, Moritz.” she cried into my coat, then gave me a friendly peck on the cheek.

“I’ll see you later, Wendla, okay?” I replied, gave her a final squeeze, then boarded the bus.

I got a window seat next to Melchior. As I looked out the window before the bus started up, I waved a little and Wendla waved back, breaking away from waving at Ilse as silent tears streamed down her face. Even though we would be seeing each other again, there was something in the way we looked at each other suggesting that things would never be the same again. And in a couple of years, if we’re lucky, it really will be the last time.

But that’s not even the half of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and it's done! i hope you liked it, i certainly enjoyed writing it. not bad for the first fic i've ever finished. in any case, may you find joy and happiness.


End file.
